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Her  lover  was  he-side  her  and  was  stiKK^stmK  that  he  escort  her  home 


THE 

UNDERCURRENT 


BY 

ROBERT    GRANT 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

F.  C.  Tohn 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
NEW   YORK:::::::::::::::::i904 


COVYRIGHT,     1904,    BY 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Published,  October,  1904 
»„*  "   * 


TO    MY   WIFE 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

Her   lover   was   beside    her   and    was    suggesting 

that  he  escort  her  home      ....      Frontispiece 

Facing 
page 

"  I  have  missed  you  two  young  people   at  church 

lately" 32 

"  Oh,  Emil,  my  husband,  how  could  you  ?  "  she 

moaned 80 

"  Give  it  to  me,  Paul,"  demanded  the  young 

woman  imperiously I2O 

"  I  am  sure  that  this  woman  will  tell  me  her 

story" 168 

There  were  moments,  even  from  the  first,  when 

he  let  her  perceive  that  he  regarded  her  as  a 

social  companion 218 

Constance  would  find  her  in  possession  at 

Lincoln  Chambers 252 

"  I  should  like  to  marry  because  I  am  in  love  "  350 
"  Refuse  a  man  like  that  who's  crazy  to  marry 

you  !  " 400 

The  flowers  were  the  bright,  shining  milestone  422 
"  I  have  surrendered  " 472 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 


"T^HOSE  whom  God  has  joined  together  let 
-I  no  man  put  asunder."  It  seemed  to  the 
bride  that  the  Rev.  George  Prentiss  laid  espe 
cially  solemn  stress  on  these  words,  and  as  she 
listened  to  the  announcement  that,  forasmuch  as 
Emil  Stuart  and  Constance  Forbes  had  consented 
together  in  holy  matrimony,  he  pronounced  them 
to  be  man  and  wife,  her  nerves  quivered  with  sat 
isfaction  at  the  thought  that  she  was  Emil's  for 
ever.  The  deed  was  done,  and  she  was  joyous  that 
the  doubt  which  had  harassed  her  in  her  weak  mo 
ments — whether  she  was  ready  to  renounce  her 
ambition  to  help  in  the  great  work  of  education  for 
the  sake  of  any  man — was  solved  and  merged  in 
the  ocean  of  their  love.  Doubtless  Emil  was  not 
perfect,  but  she  adored  him.  No  one  had  even 
hinted  that  he  was  not  perfect,  but  she  had  made  up 
her  mind  not  to  be  ridiculous  in  her  rapture,  and 
to  look  the  probable  truth  squarely  in  the  face  as 
became  an  intelligent  woman.  She  knew  that 
until  recently  he  had  been  only  a  clerk  with  Toler 
&  Company,  lumber  merchants,  and  that  he  had 
just  started  in  business  on  his  own  account.  He 
was  dependent  for  support  on  his  individual  la- 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

bors,  but  she  had  in  her  own  name  the  nice  little 
nest-egg  of  five  thousand  dollars,  realized  from 
the  sale  of  the  family  homestead  at  Colton,  the 
country  town,  ten  miles  distant,  from  which,  an 
orphan,  she  had  come  to  Benham  a  year  previous. 
She  was  marrying  for  love  a  young  man  who  had 
his  own  way  to  make,  just  as  hundreds  of  others 
were  doing  every  day,  and  she  was  proud  of  her 
part  in  the  compact.  A  great  happiness  had  come 
into  her  life,  almost  against  her  will,  but  now 
that  it  had  come  she  recognized  that  it  was  nature 
working  in  the  ordinary  way,  and  that  she  would 
not  remain  single  for  all  the  kindergartens  in  cre 
ation.  She  had  known  Emil  only  a  year;  still  that 
year  had  been  one  of  courtship,  and  no  one  had 
ever  spoken  ill  of  him,  though  she  had  been  told 
that  Mr.  Prentiss,  as  a  rector  charged  with  over 
seeing  the  destinies  of  friendless  girls  who  were 
members  of  his  parish,  had  made  inquiries. 
Moreover,  Mr.  Prentiss  had  agreed  that  two 
young  people,  situated  as  they  were,  whose  hearts 
were  united,  did  well  to  marry  on  a  small  income 
and  trust  somewhat  to  the  future.  How  other 
wise,  as  he  sagely  remarked,  was  ideal  love  to 
flourish,  and  were  mercenary  considerations  to  be 
kept  at  bay?  Emil  was  twenty-five,  and  she  just 
twenty.  Youthful,  but  still  of  a  proper  age,  and 
they  were  growing  older  every  day.  Decidedly  it 
was  a  prudent  love-match,  and  she  had  a  right  to 
be  joyful,  for  there  was  nothing  to  reproach  her 
self  with  or  to  regret. 

It  will  thus  be  observed  that  Constance  Forbes 
was  no  happy-go-lucky  sort  of  girl,  and  that 
though  she  was  marrying  younger  than  she  had 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

expected,  she  was  marrying  with  her  eyes  open. 
She  had  scrutinized  severely  the  romantic  episode 
which  had  made  her  and  her  lover  acquainted, 
and  had  even  refused  him  the  first  time  he  asked 
her  in  order  to  counterbalance  the  glamour  result 
ing  from  that  meeting.  The  episode  was  a  sequel 
to  an  accident  to  the  train  on  which  she  was  trav 
elling  from  Colton  to  Benham.  The  engine  ran 
into  the  rear  of  some  freight  cars,  owing  to  a 
misplaced  switch,  and  the  tracks  were  strewed 
with  splintered  merchandise,  so  that  the  train  was 
delayed  four  hours.  The  natural  thing  for  pas 
sengers  with  time  to  kill  was  to  inspect  the  wreck 
age,  which,  besides  the  dilapidated  railroad  appa 
ratus,  consisted  of  mangled  chairs  and  tables,  and 
bursted  bags  of  grain,  a  medley  of  freight  im 
pressive  in  its  disorder.  Constance  found  herself 
presently  discussing  with  a  young  man  the  injuries 
to  the  cow-catcher  of  the  engine,  which  had  been 
twisted  ludicrously  awry.  A  moment  before  two 
other  persons,  one  of  them  a  woman,  had  been  on 
the  spot,  and  the  conversation  had  been  innocu 
ously  general,  but  they  had  drifted  off.  Con 
stance  was  conscious  of  having  noticed  the  young 
man  in  her  car,  and  of  having  casually  observed 
that  he  had  an  alert  expression,  and  that  his  hair 
rose  perpendicularly  from  his  brow,  suggesting 
the  assertiveness  of  a  king-bird.  To  allow  a 
young  man  to  scrape  acquaintance  with  her  in  cold 
blood  would  ordinarily  have  been  entirely  repug 
nant  to  her  ideas  of  maidenly  propriety,  but  she 
resisted  her  first  impulse  to  turn  her  back  on  him 
and  abruptly  close  the  interview  as  needlessly 
harsh.  It  would  surely  be  prudish  to  abstain  from 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

examining  the  battered  locomotive,  which  lay  on 
one  side,  with  its  nose  in  the  air,  as  though  it  had 
fallen  in  the  act  of  rearing,  merely  because  a  re 
spectable-looking  male  passenger  happened  to  be 
equally  interested  in  the  results  of  the  catastrophe. 
So  it  chanced  that  after  they  had  exchanged  obser 
vations  concerning  the  injuries  to  the  overthrown 
"Vulcan"  and  speculated  as  to  how  long  they  were 
likely  to  be  delayed,  their  conversation  became 
less  impersonal.  That  is,  the  young  man  in 
formed  her  that  he  was  in  the  employ  of  Toler  & 
Company,  lumber  merchants,  and  was  returning 
to  Benham  after  having  made  some  collections  for 
them  in  the  neighboring  country.  Then  he  was 
familiar  with  Benham?  Familiar?  He  should 
say  so.  He  had  been  settled  there  for  three  years, 
and — (so  he  gave  Constance  to  understand)  — 
there  was  absolutely  nothing  regarding  the  place 
which  he  could  not  tell  her.  First  of  all,  Benham 
was  a  growing,  thriving  city.  Its  population  had 
quadrupled  in  fifteen  years.  Think  of  that !  So 
that  now  (in  1886)  there  were  upward  of  three 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  souls  in  the  city's  lim 
its.  It  was  a  hustling  place.  A  shrewd,  ener 
getic  man,  who  kept  his  wits  active,  ought  to  make 
his  fortune  there  in  ten  years,  if  he  were  given  a 
proper  chance.  Was  she  going  to  live  in  Ben- 
ham? 

Constance  admitted  that  she  was,  and,  helped 
along  by  friendly  inquiries,  she  told  him  briefly 
her  story.  That  she  had  lost  her  father  and 
mother  within  a  few  months  of  each  other,  and 
that  she  had  decided  to  come  to  Benham,  of 
which,  of  course,  she  had  heard  as  a  progressive 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

city,  in  order  to  learn  the  kindergarten  methods 
of  teaching.  Subsequently  she  hoped  to  obtain  an 
appointment  as  a  school-teacher,  and  so  earn  her 
own  living. 

"When  you've  finished  your  lessons  and  are 
ready  to  teach,  let  me  know.  I  may  be  able  to 
help  you.  I'm  a  little  in  politics  myself,  and  a 
word  to  the  school  committee  from  a  free  and 
independent  constituent  might  get  you  a  place." 

He  spoke  jauntily  though  respectfully;  but  the 
offer  reminded  Constance  that  the  conversation 
was  taking  a  more  intimate  turn  than  she  had 
bargained  for.  She  thanked  him,  and  began  to 
move  slowly  away,  not  with  any  definite  idea  of 
direction,  but  as  a  maidenly  interruption.  Mr. 
Stuart — for  he  had  told  her  his  name — kept  pace 
with  her  and  seemed  quite  unconscious  of  her  pur 
pose.  In  the  few  minutes  during  which  they  had 
been  chatting  she  had  observed  that  he  was  some 
what  above  the  average  height  and  rather  spare, 
with  a  short  mustache  which  curled  up  at  the  ends 
and  was  becoming.  Also,  that  he  had  small,  dark 
eyes,  wrhich  he  moved  rapidly  and  which  gave  him, 
in  conjunction  with  his  rising  brow  and  hair,  a 
restless,  nervous  expression. 

As  they  walked  along  the  track  the  conductor 
was  coming  toward  them.  He  had  been  to  the 
telegraph  office  and  was  returning  with  a  tele 
gram  in  his  hands. 

"Well,  what  are  our  chances  of  getting  away 
from  here?"  Emil  asked,  with  the  manner  of  a 
man  to  whom  time  is  precious. 

"It'll  be  a  good  three  hours  before  the  wreck 
ing  train  arrives  and  the  road  is  clear." 

5 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

The  youth  and  the  maid  looked  at  each  other 
and  laughed  at  the  gloominess  of  the  situation. 

uln  that  case,"  said  Constance,  glancing  at  the 
sloping  banks  bordering  the  railroad  tracks,  which 
were  bright  with  white  weed  and  other  flora  of 
the  early  summer  time,  "we  shall  have  to  dine  on 
wild  flowers." 

"I  have  some  chocolate  in  my  bag." 

Constance  flushed  slightly  with  embarrassment. 
Her  random  remark  seemed  almost  to  amount  to 
a  premeditated  invitation  to  share  his  resources. 

Emil's  gaze  had  followed  hers  in  her  allusion 
to  the  wild  flowers.  "I'll  tell  you  what,"  he  ex 
claimed,  impulsively,  "since  we  have  three  hours 
to  wait,  why  shouldn't  we  escape  from  this  culvert 
and  see  what  there  is  to  be  seen  from  the  top  of 
the  bank?  I  shall  be  able  to  show  you  Benham," 
he  added,  noticing,  perhaps,  that  she  looked 
doubtful,  "for  we  are  only  nine  or  ten  miles 
away." 

This  was  tempting.  Besides  it  would  surely  be 
ridiculous  to  remain  where  she  was  rather  than 
explore  the  country  merely  because  he  was  a  casual 
acquaintance  and  had  some  chocolate  in  his  trav 
elling  bag.  The  circumstances  were  harmless  and 
unavoidable,  unless  she  wished  to  write  herself 
down  a  prude.  The  result  was  the  logic  of  com 
mon-sense  prevailed,  and  Constance  gave  her  con 
sent  to  the  proposal.  So  they  climbed  the  bank 
presently,  pausing  on  the  way  to  gather  some 
posies,  with  which  the  party  of  the  second  part 
proceeded  to  adorn  her  hat,  after  they  had  estab 
lished  themselves  on  an  eligible  fallen  tree  com 
manding  a  pleasing  view.  The  fallen  tree  was  at 

6 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

the  edge  of  a  copse  of  pine  wood  some  two  hun 
dred  yards  from  the  bank.  Thus  they  were  shel 
tered  from  the  sun.  Out  of  the  copse,  almost  at 
their  feet,  ran  a  bubbling  brook,  which  added  a 
touch  of  romance  to  the  landscape  rolling  away  in 
undulating  and  occasionally  wooded  farming 
land,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  until  it  ter 
minated  in  a  stretch  of  steeples  and  towers  sur 
mounted  by  a  murky  cloud.  There  was  Ben- 
ham. 

Although  they  were  too  distant  to  discern  more 
than  a  confused  panorama,  Emil  essayed  a  few 
topographical  details.  He  explained  that  twenty- 
five  years  earlier  Benham  had  comprised  merely  a 
cluster  of  frame  houses  in  the  valley  of  the  peace 
ful  river  Nye,  which  still  served  as  an  aid  to  de 
scription.  Primarily  a  village  on  the  south  side 
of  the  stream,  it  had  first  developed  in  a  southerly 
direction,  spreading  like  a  bursting  seed  also  lat 
erally  to  east  and  west.  Its  original  main  street, 
once  bordered  by  old-fashioned  frame  houses 
with  grass-plots  and  shade  trees,  had  evolved  into 
Central  Avenue,  at  first  the  desirable  street  for 
residences,  but  now,  and  considerably  prior  to  his 
advent,  the  leading  retail  shopping  artery,  alive 
with  dry-goods  shops,  into  which  the  women 
swarmed  like  flies.  To  the  west  of  Central 
Avenue  lay  the  tide  of  social  fashion  culminating 
two  miles  distant  in  the  River  Drive,  a  wide 
avenue  of  stately  private  houses,  situated  where 
the  Nye  made  a  broad  bend  to  the  north,  and  the 
new  district  beyond  the  river,  where  the  mansion 
of  Carleton  Howard,  the  railroad  magnate,  stood 
a  pioneer  among  Elysian  fields  of  real  estate  enter- 

7 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

prise,  sanctified  by  immaculate  road  surfaces  and 
liberal  electric  light. 

Constance  listened  eagerly.  She  was  interested 
to  know  particulars  concerning  the  city  where  she 
was  to  live,  and  she  enjoyed  the  lively  sardonic 
touches  which  relieved  his  description.  Though 
possessing  an  essentially  earnest  soul,  she  was  sus 
ceptible  to  humor,  and  had  an  aversion  for  lack  of 
appreciation  of  true  conditions. 

To  the  east  of  Central  Avenue,  Stuart  further 
explained,  lay  first  the  shops  and  the  business 
centre,  and  then  the  polyglot  army  of  citizens  who 
worked  in  the  mills,  oil  yards,  and  pork  factories. 
Across  the  river  to  the  south,  approached  by  seven 
bridges  of  iron,  replacing  two  frail  wooden 
bridges  of  former  days,  were  the  mills  and  other 
industrial  establishments.  Beyond  these  still  fur 
ther  to  the  north  was  Poland,  so  called,  a  settle 
ment  of  the  Poles,  favorite  resort  of  the  young 
ladies  of  Benham's  first  families  eager  to  offer  the 
benefits  of  religion  and  civilization  to  the  ignorant 
poor.  Following  the  Nye  in  its  sweep  to  the 
north,  until  it  deflected  again  to  the  east,  so  as  to 
run  almost  parallel  to  its  first  course,  but  in  the 
opposite  direction,  were  the  public  park,  the  land 
bonded  for  an  Art  Museum,  Wetmore  College 
(the  Woman's  Academy  of  learning),  and  the 
other  more  or  less  ornamental  institutions.  This 
region  of  embryo  public  buildings,  garnished  with 
august  spaces,  was  a  sort  of  boundary  line  on  the 
north,  turning  the  current  of  industrial  population 
more  to  the  east.  Just  as  the  tide  to  the  west  of 
Central  Avenue  was  one  of  increasing  comfort  and 
fashion,  this  to  the  southeast,  stretching  out  as 

8 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

the  city  spread,  and  forced  constantly  forward  by 
the  encroachments  of  trade,  was  one  of  common 
workaday  conditions,  punctuated  (as  he  Dhrased 
it)  now  and  again  by  poverty  and  distress. 

"I  tell  you,  Miss " 

"Forbes,  Constance  Forbes  is  my  name." 
"Thank  you.  I  tell  you,  Miss  Forbes,  Benham 
is  a  wideawake  city.  We  have  all  the  modern 
improvements.  But  the  rich  man  gets  the  cream 
every  time.  I  heard  millionaire  Carleton  How 
ard,  the  railroad  magnate,  say  the  other  day  from 
the  platform,  that  there  is  no  country  in  the  world 
where  the  poor  man  is  so  well  off  as  in  this.  Yet 
it's  equally  true  that  the  rich  are  all  the  time  get 
ting  richer  and  the  poor  poorer.  He  neglected  to 
state  that."  He  laughed  scornfully,  and  his  eyes 
sought  Constance's  face  for  approval.  She  knew 
little  concerning  millionaires  or  the  truth  of  the 
proposition  he  was  advancing,  but  it  interested  her 
to  perceive  that  he  was  evidently  on  the  side  of 
the  unfortunate,  for  she  cherished  a  keen  pity  for 
the  ignorant  poor  almost  as  a  heritage.  Her 
father  had  been  a  country  physician — an  ener 
getic,  sympathetic  man,  whose  large  vitality  had 
been  spent  in  relieving  the  sufferings  of  a  clientage 
of  small  tillers  of  the  soil  over  an  area  of  fifteen 
miles.  He  had  often  spoken  to  her  with  pathos 
of  the  patient  struggles  of  the  common  people. 
Her  own  susceptibility  to  human  suffering  had 
been  early  quickened  by  the  destiny  of  her  mother, 
who  had  been  thrown  from  a  sleigh  shortly  after 
Constance's  birth,  and  had  remained  a  paralytic 
invalid  to  the  day  of  her  death,  requiring  incessant 
care. 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"When  I  run  for  Congress,"  he  resumed,  scowl 
ing  slightly  as  he  fixed  his  gaze  on  the  murky 
cloud  surmounting  Benham,  "it'll  be  on  a  platform 
advocating  government  ownership  of  railroads, 
telegraphs,  water-works,  electric  street  cars,  and 
all  the  other  fat  things  out  of  which  our  modern 
philanthropists  with  capital  squeeze  enormous 
profits  at  the  expense  of  their  fellow-citizens.  I'm 
against  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Buy  a  gas  plant 
to-day  and  consolidate  it  with  another  to-morrow. 
Profit  to  the  promoter  two  hundred  per  cent., 
without  leaving  the  office.  What  does  the  con 
sumer  get?  Cheaper  gas  and  greater  efficiency. 
That's  the  fine-sounding  tag;  and  some  of  the 
horny-handed  multitude  are  guileless  enough  to 
believe  it.  It  won't  be  long  though  now  before 
I  make  my  own  pile,"  he  added,  not  quite  rele 
vantly.  "I'd  have  made  it  before  this  if  they 
hadn't  hindered  me." 

Constance  perceived  that  he  expected  her  to 
inquire  what  this  meant,  and  she  was  curious  to 
know.  So  she  asked. 

"My  employers,  Toler  &  Company.  If  I  had 
had  the  capital  and  the  opportunities  of  those 
people,  I  should  be  wearing  diamonds.  I've  tried 
to  point  out  to  them  more  than  once  that  they 
were  throwing  big  chances  away  by  being  so  con 
servative  and  old-fashioned  in  their  methods  in 
stead  of  branching  out  boldly  and  making  a  ten 
strike.  One  thing  is  certain,  I'm  not  going  to 
invent  ideas  for  them  for  a  pitiful  one  thousand 
dollars  a  year  much  longer.  If  they  think  they 
can  afford  not  to  raise  my  salary  and  give  me  a 
chance  to  show  what  I  can  do,  I'm  going  to  let 

10 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

them  try  after  January  first.  It  isn't  very  pleas 
ant,  Miss  Forbes,  to  be  doing  most  of  the  work 
and  see  someone  else  reaping  all  the  profits.  They 
can't  help  making  money,  old  fogies  as  they  are." 

It  was  certainly  a  galling  situation.  Constance, 
who  was  young  herself,  felt  that  she  sympa 
thized  with  his  desire  to  compel  recognition. 

"It  doesn't  seem  right  at  all,"  she  said,  "that 
you  should  be  kept  down." 

"I've  made  up  my  mind  to  give  them  notice 
that  I  must  have  an  interest  in  the  business  after 
the  first  of  the  year,  or  I  quit  and  start  on  my  own 
account.  I've  my  eye  on  a  man  with  five  thousand 
dollars  who  will  go  into  partnership  with  me  I 
hope." 

Constance  thought  of  her  own  five  thousand 
dollars.  She  would  almost  like  to  lend  it  to  him, 
though,  of  course,  that  was  out  of  the  question. 
Still,  there  would  be  no  harm  in  offering  moral 
support.  "If  I  were  a  man,"  she  said,  "and  had 
faith  in  my  own  abilities,  I  wouldn't  remain  in  a 
subordinate  position  a  moment  longer  than  was 
really  necessary." 

In  response  to  this  note  of  sympathy  Emil 
opened  his  bag  and  produced  two  sticks  of  choco 
late.  He  broke  them  apart  and  presented  one 
to  his  companion.  He  also  exhibited  a  com 
pressible  metal  drinking-cup,  which  he  filled  from 
the  bubbling  brook.  A  crow  cawed  in  the  pine 
copse  as  though  to  call  attention  to  the  idyl,  but 
only  the  two  philosophers  on  the  fallen  tree-trunk 
were  within  hearing  of  his  note  of  irony,  and  they 
regarded  it  merely  as  an  added  rural  charm. 

"Would  you  object  to  my  smoking  my  pipe?" 
ii 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Not  in  the  least.  My  father  was  devoted  to 
his  pipe." 

Another  bond  of  sympathy.  Or  at  least  an  in 
dication  to  the  swain  that  here  was  a  maiden  who 
was  no  spoil-sport  and  who  would  not  have  to  be 
wooed  by  the  sacrifice  of  personal  comfort. 
Moreover,  it  was  not  lost  on  him  that  she  was 
an  attractive-looking  maiden,  and  that  her  voice 
was  well  modulated  and  refined.  Yet  he  was  not 
thinking  of  her,  but  merely  of  her  sex  in  general, 
when  he  said,  "Besides,  I  hope  to  be  married  some 
day.  How  could  I  support  a  wife  in  Benham  on 
one  thousand  dollars  a  year  in  the  manner  in 
which  I  should  wish  her  to  live?" 

Constance  could  not  answer  this  question,  and 
did  not  try.  It  belonged  to  the  category  of  re 
marks  which  were  to  be  treated  by  a  single  woman 
as  monologues.  But  she  was  keenly  interested. 
One  thousand  dollars  a  year  did  not  seem  to  her 
a  very  pitiful  sum  for  a  young  couple  just  start 
ing  in  life.  She  had  heard  her  father  say  that 
when  he  married  her  mother  he  had  only  a  hun 
dred  dollars  in  the  world,  and  no  assurance  of 
practice.  But  that  was  not  in  Benham.  She  had 
already  divined  that  Benham  was  to  be  a  land  of 
surprises.  At  all  events  she  could  not  help  admir 
ing  Mr.  Stuart's  chivalric  attitude  toward  his 
future  wife.  His  ambition  was  obviously  quick 
ened  by  the  thought  of  his  future  sweetheart,  who 
ever  she  might  be;  which  was  an  agreeable  trib 
ute  to  her  own  sex,  suggesting  susceptibility  to 
sentiment. 

"Yes,  I'd  have  been  married  before  this  if 
Toler  &  Company  had  not,  as  you  say,  kept  me 

12 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

down,"  he  continued,  pensively,  blowing  a  ring  of 
smoke  to  emphasize  his  mood.  "When  after 
working  hard  all  day  I  go  to  my  room  at  night 
and  take  up  my  violin,  I  often  think  that  if  I 
could  play  to  the  woman  I  loved,  instead  of  to  the 
blank  wall,  how  much  happier  I  should  be.  But 
I  suppose  some  of  my  friends  would  declare  that 
I  was  a  fool  to  desire  a  yoke  around  my  neck 
before  fate  placed  it  there." 

His  own  readiness  to  relieve  the  stress  of  his 
confession  by  a  sardonic  turn  counteracted  the 
constraint  which  his  intimate  avowal  had  aroused. 
Incredible  as  it  is  that  a  man  in  his  sober  senses 
should  offer  himself  to  a  woman  the  first  time  he 
beholds  her,  no  woman  is  altogether  unaware  that 
he  is  liable  to  do  so.  A  modest  and  thoughtful 
young  girl  shrinks  from  precipitate  progress  in 
affairs  of  the  heart.  Obviously  the  ground  was 
less  dangerous  than  it  had  for  a  moment  ap 
peared,  but  Constance  sought  the  avenue  of  escape 
which  his  allusion  to  music  offered.  Besides  it 
pleased  her  to  hear  that  he  was  aesthetic  in  his 
interests. 

"You  play  on  the  violin,  then?"  she  asked.  "I 
envy  anybody  who  has  the  talent  and  the  oppor 
tunity  for  anything  of  that  sort.  I  sing  a  little, 
but  my  voice  is  uncultivated,  for  in  Colton  there 
was  no  one  to  tell  us  our  faults."  The  earnest 
gleam  in  her  fine  dark  eyes  seemed  to  second  the 
fresh  enthusiasm  of  her  tone. 

The  warning  scream  of  the  whistle,  not  the 
voice  of  the  crow,  broke  in  at  this  point  on  their 
preoccupation  with  each  other.  This  was  the 
romantic  episode  from  which  their  acquaintance 

13 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

— an  episode  which  might  readily  have  signi 
fied  nothing.  But  on  the  other  hand,  it  naturally 
supplied  to  the  party  of  the  second  part  a  fair 
field  of  memory  in  which  her  imagination  might 
wander  when  stirred  by  the  subsequent  attentions 
of  this  young  knight  with  sympathy  for  the  unfor 
tunate,  resolute  confidence  in  his  own  abilities,  gen 
erous  views  in  regard  to  matrimony  and  a  sensi 
tive,  aesthetic  soul.  For  Emil  Stuart  sought  her 
out  at  once,  visited  her  at  her  lodgings  and  gave 
unmistakable  signs  that  his  purpose  was  both  hon 
orable  and  definite.  Within  six  months  she  knew 
from  his  own  lips  that  he  wished  to  make  her  his 
wife.  She  took  another  three  in  which  to  conquer 
her  scruples  and  maidenly  disinclination  to  be  won 
too  easily.  Why  should  she  not  yield?  He  was 
her  first  lover,  and  she  loved  him,  and  he  declared 
with  fervor  that  he  adored  her.  Contact  with  the 
conditions  of  a  large  city  had  shown  her  unmis 
takably  that  only  after  years  of  struggle  could  she 
hope  to  be  more  than  a  mere  hand-maiden  in  the 
work  of  education,  and  that  during  the  early 
period  of  her  employment,  if  not  indeed  for  life, 
the  hours  of  work  would  be  long  and  confining 
and  her  pleasures  few.  Here  was  a  companion 
who  would  provide  her  with  a  home,  and  upon 
whom  the  tenderness  of  her  woman's  nature  could 
be  freely  bestowed.  It  was  the  old,  old  story,  she 
said  to  herself,  but  was  there  a  better  one? 


II 

THE  young  couple  bought  a  small  house  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  city,  some  distance 
beyond  the  Nye,  where  it  flows  at  right  angles 
with  its  original  course,  and  in  the  general  region 
of  fastidious  growth,  but  in  a  settlement  of  inex 
pensive  villas  to  one  side  of  the  trend  of  fashion. 
The  bridegroom  had  not  forgotten  his  liberal  in 
tention  to  begin  housekeeping  on  a  somewhat 
more  ambitious  scale  than  his  salary  as  a  clerk  had 
warranted.  He  was  now  the  senior  partner  in  the 
firm  of  Stuart  &  Robinson,  lumber  dealers,  which 
had  been  in  existence  six  months.  He  had  parted 
from  his  employers,  Toler  &  Company,  on  the 
first  of  January,  because  of  their  refusal  to  accede 
to  his  demands,  and  had  been  able  to  persuade 
the  comrade  with  five  thousand  dollars,  to  whom 
he  had  referred  at  his  first  meeting  with  Con 
stance,  to  enter  into  a  business  alliance.  Robin 
son  was  three  years  his  junior,  and  without  com 
mercial  experience,  but  eager  to  turn  the  windfall, 
which  had  come  to  him  through  the  death  of  an 
aunt,  into  a  cool  million.  What  could  be  more 
natural  than  to  take  advantage  of  the  experience 
which  Stuart  offered  him — an  experience  which 
gave  promise  of  swift  and  lucrative  operations  in 
the  near  future? 

It  was  a  very  modest  establishment,  from  the 
standpoint  of  affluence.     A  neat  little   house  of 

15 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

eight  rooms  supplied  with  modern  improvements, 
and,  though  one  of  a  builder's  batch,  designed 
with  some  regard  for  artistic  effect,  which  indi 
cated  that  a  preference  for  harmonious  beauty  was 
working  in  the  popular  mind  of  Benham  against 
the  idols,  colorless  uniformity  and  bedizened  ugli 
ness.  To  the  bride,  whose  experience  of  house 
keeping  was  limited  to  a  country  town  where  col 
orless  uniformity  ruled  undisturbed  and  modern 
improvements  were  unknown,  the  expenditure  of 
her  nest-egg  of  five  thousand  dollars  in  this  com 
plete  little  home  seemed  an  investment  no  less  en 
chanting  than  wise.  Five  thousand  for  the  house, 
with  a  subsequent  mortgage  upon  it  of  one  thou 
sand  for  the  purchase  of  the  furniture  and  to  pro 
vide  a  small  bank  balance  for  emergencies.  This 
was  her  contribution  to  the  domestic  partnership, 
and  she  rejoiced  to  think  that  her  ability  to  help 
to  this  extent  would  leave  Emil  a  free  hand  for 
the  display  of  his  business  talent. 

The  basis  of  a  newly  married  woman's  peace  of 
soul  is  trust.  She  feels  that  the  responsibility  is 
on  her  husband  to  make  good  the  manly  qualities 
with  which  she  has  endowed  him,  and  because  of 
which  she  has  consented  to  become  his  mate.  Oc 
casionally  during  the  first  few  months  of  her  mar 
ried  life  Constance  laughed  to  think  that  all  her 
maidenly  eagerness  to  solve  the  riddle  of  life 
brilliantly,  and  all  her  profound  searching  of  the 
mysteries  of  the  universe  should  have  ended  in 
her  becoming  an  every-day  housewife  with  dust 
pan  and  brush,  and  the  wife  of  one  who,  to  all 
outward  appearances,  was  an  every-day  young 
man.  But  her  laugh  savored  of  gladness.  She 

16 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

had  given  herself  to  him  because  she  had  faith 
that  his  energy,  self-reliance,  fearless  humor  and 
sympathetic  hatred  of  shams  would  distinguish 
him  presently  from  the  common  herd  of  men,  and 
vindicate  her  infatuation.  She  had  given  herself 
to  him,  besides,  because  he  loved  her — a  delight 
ful  consciousness.  Accordingly,  she  enclosed  her 
self  in  the  web  of  happiness  which  her  confidence 
in  him  had  spun  about  her,  and  took  up  her  domes 
tic  duties  with  light-hearted  devotion. 

Nevertheless,  no  woman  emerges  from  her 
honeymoon  with  exactly  the  same  estimate  of  her 
lover  as  before.  If  nothing  else,  she  has  seen  his 
mental  and  moral  characteristics  in  their  undress, 
so  to  speak,  and  become  habituated  to  their  sub 
limity.  We  may  be  no  less  fond  of  a  person 
whose  anecdotes  have  grown  familiar  to  us,  and 
analogously  a  wife  does  not  weary  of  her  hus 
band's  qualities  merely  because  they  have  lost  the 
glamor  of  novelty.  On  the  contrary  she  is  apt  to 
continue  to  adore  them  because  they  are  his.  Still 
she  feels  free  to  scrutinize  them  closely  and — 
unconsciously  at  least — to  submit  them  to  the  test 
of  her  own  silent  judgment.  She  discovers,  too, 
of  course,  that  he  has  sides  and  idiosyncrasies  the 
existence  of  which  she  never  suspected.  Ordi 
narily  she  finds  to  her  surprise  that  his  attitude 
in  regard  to  this  or  that  matter  has  shifted  per 
ceptibly  since  marriage,  so  that,  instead  of  being 
lukewarm  or  ardent,  as  the  case  may  be,  he  has 
become  almost  strenuous  or  indifferent  in  his  atti 
tude.  Hence  she  divines  that  during  their  court 
ship  some  of  his  real  opinions  and  tendencies  have 
been  kept  in  retreat. 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Constance  sensibly  had  decided  in  advance  that 
Emil  was  not  perfect,  so  she  was  prepared  to  dis 
cover  a  blemish  here  and  there.  In  spite  of  her 
happiness  it  became  obvious  to  her  during  the  first 
six  months  of  their  married  life  that  the  self-con 
fidence  wrhich  had  attracted  her  verged  at  times  on 
braggadocio,  and  moreover  that  opposition  or  dis 
appointment  made  him  sour  and  morose.  If  his 
affairs  were  prospering,  his  spirits  rose,  his  wits 
scintillated,  and  he  spoke  of  the  world  with  a  gay, 
if  sardonic,  forbearance,  which  suggested  that  it 
was  soon  to  be  his  foot-ball.  But  if  matters  went 
wrong,  he  not  only  became  depressed,  but  was 
prone  to  dwell  upon  his  own  ill-luck,  and  inveigh 
bitterly  against  the  existing  conditions  of  society. 
She  had  noticed  from  the  first  days  of  their  ac 
quaintance  that  there  appeared  to  be  an  incon 
sistency  between  his  eagerness  to  grow  rich  and 
his  enmity  toward  the  capitalists  of  Benham;  but 
she  had  gathered  that  he  was  merely  eager  to  put 
himself  in  a  position  where  his  sympathy  for  the 
toiling  mass  could  be  fortified  by  the  opportunities 
which  wealth  would  afford.  But  now  that  his 
feverish  absorption  in  business  had  apparently 
banished  all  interest  in  philanthropic  undertakings 
from  his  thoughts,  the  inconsistency  was  more  con 
spicuous. 

Constance  spoke  to  Emil  about  this  at  last. 
Naturally,  she  broached  the  topic  when  he  was  in 
one  of  his  sanguine  moods.  In  response  he  took 
out  his  pocket-book  and  asked  her  how  much  she 
required,  having  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that 
she  was  beating  around  the  bush  and  had  some 
particular  object  of  charity  in  view. 

18 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"You  don't  understand,  exactly,  Emil,"  she  an 
swered.  "I'm  not  asking  for  money;  I  was  merely 
hoping  that  having  me  to  provide  for  isn't  going 
to  cut  you  off  from  your  former  associations — to 
lessen  your  sympathy  with  political  movements 
for  the  protection  of  the  people  such  as  you  used 
to  take  part  in  before  we  were  married." 

Stuart  frowned,  and  thrust  his  hands  deep  into 
his  pockets  as  he  was  apt  to  do  when  he  felt  his 
oats.  "You  don't  seem  to  realize,  Constance,  that 
a  man  starting  in  business  needs  all  his  energy  and 
watchfulness  to  avoid  having  his  head  thrust 
under  water  by  the  fellows  who  are  on  the  sur 
face  of  the  commercial  whirlpool  and  who  don't 
want  company.  When  I've  got  the  sharks  in  my 
line  of  trade  where  I  want  them,  which  is,  meta 
phorically  speaking,  at  the  bottom  of  the  pond, 
it'll  be  time  enough  to  take  up  politics.  You'd 
like  to  see  me  in  Congress  some  day,  wouldn't  you  ? 
Well,  that  will  be  plain  sailing  for  me  in  this  dis 
trict  as  soon  as  I  control  the  lumber  business  of 
Benham,  little  saint." 

This  sounded  plausible,  and  did  not  seem  to 
admit  of  argument,  provided  the  consummation 
of  the  business  supremacy  indicated  by  her  hus 
band  was  not  deferred  too  long.  She  dismissed 
the  matter  from  her  mind  for  the  time  being.  It 
\vas  less  easy  to  dispose  of  another  tendency  which 
had  revealed  itself  in  unmistakable  guise  since  their 
marriage,  and  this  was  Emil's  indifferent  attitude, 
not  merely  toward  her  form  of  religious  faith,  but 
toward  all  religion.  Within  a  short  time  after 
their  acquaintance  began  she  had  discovered  that 
he  was  not  an  Episcopalian,  and  that  his  views 

19 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

regarding  the  spiritual  problems  of  the  universe 
were  not  those  of  orthodox  Christians.  But  on 
the  other  hand,  although  he  was  fond  even  then 
of  blowing  down  her  card-houses,  as  he  called 
them,  with  an  occasional  blast  of  scientific  truth, 
he  had  been  ready  to  accompany  her  to  church 
and  had  never  seemed  lacking  in  reverence.  She 
had  asked  herself  the  question  why  she  should 
stifle  her  love  for  him  merely  because  his  concep 
tion  of  the  eternal  mysteries  did  not  coincide  with 
her  own,  and  she  had  answered  it  by  the  independ 
ent  assurance  that  his  attitude  toward  life  was  the 
important  consideration.  She  had  even  been  fas 
cinated  by  his  broad  outlook  on  the  universe,  with 
his  flashing  eyes  and  his  righteous  contempt  for 
some  of  the  dogmas  of  the  sects.  He  had  seemed 
to  her  imagination  at  such  times  almost  as  a  re 
forming  archangel  purging  away  the  dross  of 
superstition  and  convention  from  the  essentials  of 
religious  faith.  He  did  not  believe  in  the  mira 
cles,  it  is  true,  because  he  regarded  them  as  viola 
tions  of  the  laws  of  the  universe ;  but  was  he  not  a 
firm  believer  in  the  spirit  of  Christian  conduct? 

She  had  reasoned  thus  as  a  maiden,  and  had 
never  doubted  the  soundness  of  her  self-justifica 
tion.  But  the  sequel  was  disturbing  to  her  peace 
of  mind  and  to  her  hopes.  It  was  not  Emil's  re 
fusal  to  go  to  church,  nor  his  dedication  of  the 
Sabbath  to  mere  rest  and  recreation  which  dis 
tressed  her,  but  his  scornful  tone  in  regard  to  any 
form  of  religious  ceremonial;  his  scornful  tone 
toward  her  own  reverence  for  the  faith  in  which 
she  had  been  educated.  Even  the  term  of  endear 
ment  which  he  coined  for  her,  "little  saint,"  was 

20 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

a  jocose  and  condescending  appellation  reflecting 
on  her  susceptibility  to  ideas  which  clever  people 
had  discarded  as  fatuous.  She  could  have  borne 
without  complaint  going  to  church  alone  had  he 
been  willing  to  respect  her  opinions  as  she  re 
spected  his.  But  on  her  return  from  service  he 
was  sure  to  greet  her  with  some  ironical  jest  which 
made  painfully  clear  that  he  regarded  her  habit 
of  worship  as  a  sign  of  mental  inferiority.  His 
own  habit  on  Sunday  was  to  remain  in  bed  until 
after  the  church  hour.  Then  he  would  establish 
himself  in  a  loose-fitting  woolen  garment,  which 
he  called  his  smoking-jacket,  on  the  porch  or  in 
the  sitting-room  and  read  the  Sunday  papers,  with 
a  pipe  in  his  mouth.  Sometimes  he  played  on  his 
violin,  and  by  the  time  Constance  returned  he  was 
ready  for  a  short  walk,  ostensibly  for  the  sake  of 
exercising  a  small  black  and  white  terrier.  His 
wife  could  not  accompany  him  on  this  stroll,  for 
she  could  not  neglect  their  mid-day  dinner,  and 
when  he  sat  down  at  table  he  was  apt,  if  the 
weather  was  fine,  to  refer  pathetically  to  the  sin 
of  having  wasted  it  in  the  city.  "If  only  you  were 
content,  little  saint,  to  worship  nature  with  me," 
he  would  say,  "we  would  get  away  into  the  coun 
try  with  a  luncheon  basket  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning  and  make  a  day  of  it  in  the  woods." 

There  was  something  winsome  in  this  proposi 
tion,  especially  as  the  inability  to  enjoy  an  outing 
because  of  her  reluctance  to  renounce  church  wor 
ship  seemed  to  spoil  his  day  in  a  double  sense. 
For,  as  a  consequence,  he  ate  a  huge  Sunday  din 
ner,  including  two  bottles  of  beer,  smoked  more 
than  his  wont,  and  after  a  tirade  against  the  evils 

21 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

of  monopoly  or  some  kindred  topic  invariably  fell 
into  a  heavy  slumber  on  the  lounge,  from  which 
he  did  not  awaken  until  nearly  sunset. 

"Another  Sunday  wasted,"  he  more  than  once 
remarked  by  way  of  melancholy  comment  on  this 
state  of  affairs. 

No  wonder  that  Constance  was  perplexed  as  to 
her  duty.  Since  coming  to  Benham  she  had  been 
a  member  of  Rev.  George  Prentiss's  parish.  Her 
mother  was  of  English  descent,  and  Constance 
had  been  brought  up  in  the  Episcopal  faith.  At 
Colton  there  had  been  no  church  of  that  denom 
ination,  and  to  attend  the  Episcopal  service  one 
had  to  drive  or  walk  two  miles  to  a  neighboring 
village.  It  had  often  seemed  to  Constance  more 
important  to  remain  at  home  with  her  invalid 
mother  than  to  take  this  excursion.  Consequent 
ly,  during  her  girlhood,  she  had  been  irregular 
in  her  attendance  at  church.  Frequently,  in  order 
to  be  able  to  return  home  more  speedily,  she  had 
worshipped  at  the  Methodist  or  Unitarian  meet 
ing-house  in  the  village.  Sometimes  she  had 
stayed  away  altogether;  therefore  she  understood 
the  fascination  of  communion  with  books  or  with 
spring  buds  or  autumn  leaves  as  a  substitute  for 
worship  in  the  sanctuary.  Her  untrammelled  ex 
perience  had  made  her  open-minded  and  independ 
ent,  but  on  the  other  hand  the  difficulty  of  kneel 
ing  at  her  own  shrine  had  nourished  her  sentiment 
for  the  Episcopal  faith,  so  that  she  had  rejoiced 
spiritually  in  the  opportunity,  which  her  residence 
in  Benham  afforded,  to  become  a  regular  and  de 
voted  member  of  Mr.  Prentiss's  flock.  More 
over,  the  vital  character  of  St.  Stephen's  as  a  re- 

22 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ligious  body  had  appealed  to  her.  The  little 
church  near  Colton  had  been  a  peaceful  and  poetic, 
but  poor  and  unenterprising  establishment.  Con 
trasted  with  it,  St.  Stephen's  appeared  a  splendid 
and  powerful  influence  for  righteousness,  stirring 
deeply  her  aesthetic  sensibilities,  and  at  the  same 
time  proving  its  living,  practical  grasp  on  human 
character  through  its  able  pastor  and  active  organ 
ization.  St.  Stephen's  never  slumbered;  St. 
Stephen's  prided  itself  on  its  ardent  faith  and  es 
sentially  modern  spirit;  and  St.  Stephen's,  by  com 
mon  acceptance,  was  synonymous  with  its  rector, 
Rev.  George  Prentiss. 

Mr.  Prentiss  had  grown  up  with  the  church. 
That  is,  he  had  been  curate  to  the  Rev.  Henry 
Glynn,  an  Englishman  who  had  selected  Benham 
as  a  promising  pasture  for  the  propagation  of  the 
Episcopal  faith  beyond  the  pale  of  the  mother 
country,  who  had  gone  forth  into  the  wilderness 
and  had  lived  to  see  a  goodly  flock  of  sheep  brows 
ing  beneath  his  ministrations.  Mr.  Glynn  was  a 
pioneer,  and  had  gone  forth  in  the  early  seven 
ties  when  Benham  was  in  the  throes  of  rapid 
progress  and  extraordinary  development  from 
month  to  month.  His  mission  had  been  to  spread 
the  tenets  of  his  sect  by  the  zeal  and  eloquence  of 
his  testimony,  and  to  provide  a  suitable  edifice  for 
the  human  souls  attracted  by  his  teachings.  In 
his  time  the  congregation  forsook  the  small  and 
primitive  structure,  erected  in  hot  haste  within  a 
year  of  his  arrival,  for  a  commodious  and  suffi 
ciently  aesthetic  building.  Before  his  death,  which 
occurred  prematurely,  Benham  had  become  a 
large  and  important  municipality.  His  successor 

23 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

found  himself  not  only  the  pastor  of  the  leading 
Episcopal  Church  of  the  city — which  had  also  in 
the  process  of  social  evolution  become  the  most 
fashionable  and  probably  the  richest  church  in 
the  city — but  a  shepherd  in  a  wilderness  of  a  dif 
ferent  sort.  In  other  words,  he  was  brought  sud 
denly  face  to  face  with  the  problems  which  con 
front  earnest  spirits  eager  to  redeem  human  na 
ture  in  a  huge  industrial  community.  The  former 
wilderness  had  blossomed,  even  with  the  rose, 
but  the  thistles,  tares,  and  rank  grass  which  fought 
for  mastery  with  the  wholesome  vegetation  had 
revolutionized  the  soil.  There  were  scores  of 
saloons  in  Benham;  there  was  a  herd  of  immoral 
women  on  the  streets  of  Benham;  and,  most  per 
plexing  problem  of  all,  perhaps,  there  were,  only 
a  mile  apart,  the  picturesque  neighborhood  of  the 
Riverside  Drive  with  its  imposing,  princely,  pri 
vate  mansions,  and  Smith  Street,  boulevard  of  un 
wholesome  tenement-houses,  garnished  with  rum- 
shops  and  squalid  lives — contrast  repugnant  and 
disconcerting  to  American  ideals,  and  to  him  as 
an  American. 

But  Rev.  George  Prentiss  was  not  the  man  to 
shrink  from  deep  and  important  responsibilities. 
On  the  contrary,  it  might  be  said  of  him  that  he 
revelled  in  them.  The  consciousness  that,  in  spite 
of  Benham's  mushroom-like  growth  as  a  proud 
testimonial  to  the  sacredness  of  institutions  estab 
lished  by  the  free-born,  the  city  had  begun  closely 
to  resemble  large  cities  everywhere  was  sobering, 
but  on  the  whole,  inspiriting  to  him  as  a  worker. 
His  mission  was  clearly  disclosed  to  him — a  mis 
sion  worthy  of  the  energies  of  a  clergyman  eager 

24 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

to  bring  his  church  into  closer  touch  with  every 
day  life  and  common  human  conditions.  For  Mr. 
Prentiss  as  an  American  and  a  churchman  was 
ambitious  for  the  future  of  the  Episcopal  faith. 
His  predecessor  and  friend  had  seen  in  their  pas 
torate  only  a  glorious  continuation  of  English 
orthodoxy — a  spiritual  revolt  from  dissent,  trans 
cendentalism  and  cold,  intellectual  independence, 
which  would,  in  the  end,  gather  sixty  million  peo 
ple  into  a  Protestant  fold,  national  in  its  title  and 
dimensions.  Mr.  Prentiss  shared  this  delectable 
vision,  but  he  would  not  have  American  Epis 
copacy  a  mere  blind  imitation  of  the  mother 
church  or  a  colonial  dependency.  He  felt  that  it 
behooved  those  of  his  faith  on  this  side  of  the 
Atlantic  to  gird  their  loins  zealously,  and  to 
guide  their  sheep  fearlessly,  receiving  with  re 
spectful  attention  the  interpretations  of  the  spir 
itual  lords  of  Great  Britain  regarding  dogma, 
but  exercising  intelligent  discretion  in  regard  to 
their  adoption.  This  attitude,  which  might  be 
called  patriotism,  in  some  sense  reflected  the  pride 
which  Dante,  that  stern  censor  of  prelates,  con 
demns.  Was  the  Church  of  England  to  prescribe 
doctrine  to  the  thriving,  hardy  child  of  its  loins 
forever?  Surely  not,  now  that  that  child,  waxing 
in  size  and  resources  and  dignified  with  power, 
promised  soon  to  rival  its  parent.  It  was  agree 
able  to  the  rector  of  St.  Stephen's  to  reflect  that 
the  tide  of  fashion  was  bearing  the  children  of 
Unitarian  and  other  indeterminate  faiths  into  the 
fold  of  the  true  and  living  church  of  Christ.  It 
was  also  agreeable  to  behold  in  his  mind's  eye  that 
church — the  American  church — taking  advantage 

25 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

of  this  splendid  opportunity  and  accepting  with 
fearless  and  uncompromising  zeal  the  challenge  of 
infidelity  and  materialism.  The  people  were  tired, 
he  believed,  of  intellectual,  spiritual  dissipation, 
in  which  each  soul  formed  its  own  conception  of 
God,  and  defined  the  terms  of  its  own  compact 
with  Him.  They  were  welcoming  fervor,  pas 
sion,  color  and  all  the  symbols  of  a  faith  which 
beholds  in  man  a  miserable  sinner  redeemed 
through  the  blood  of  Christ.  If  the  people  of  his 
nationality  had  been  reluctant  in  the  days  of  their 
early  history,  when  population  was  sparse  and  sin 
was  kept  at  bay  by  primitive  economic  conditions, 
to  admit  that  man  was  a  sinner,  could  they  doubt 
it  now?  Was  not  Benham  with  its  bustling, 
seething,  human  forces  an  eloquent  testimonial  to 
the  reality  of  evil  and  the  intensity  of  the  struggle 
between  the  powers  of  darkness?  The  Church's 
mission — his  mission — was  to  take  an  active  part, 
in  a  modern  spirit,  in  the  great  work  of  regenera 
tion  by  bringing  light  to  the  blind,  sympathy  and 
relief  to  the  down-trodden  and  protection  to  the 
oppressed. 

Mr.  Prentiss  had  carried  his  theories  energeti 
cally  into  practice.  He  had  striven  to  make  St. 
Stephen's  a  tabernacle  for  the  prosperous  and  the 
fortunate  and  also  for  the  desolate  and  the  friend 
less.  His  wish  would  have  been  to  see  them  in 
termingled  at  morning  service  without  regard  to 
vested  rights,  but  his  wardens  assured  him  that  the 
finances  of  the  church  could  not  be  conducted  suc 
cessfully  except  on  the  basis  of  inviolable  pew  own 
ership  until  after  the  morning  service  had  begun. 
But  he  was  able  to  throw  the  church  open  in  the 

26 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

afternoon  to  the  general  public,  and  to  reserve  in 
the  morning  certain  gallery  and  less  desirable 
benches  for  the  accommodation  of  young  men  and 
women  students  who  wished  to  worship  regularly 
and  could  not  afford  to  hire  seats.  If  it  was  at 
first  a  tribulation  to  him  that  his  congregation  was 
rich  and  fashionable  and  a  little  stolid,  their  liber 
ality  on  collection  days  was  a  great  compensation, 
for  it  gave  him  scope  for  extending  his  influence 
along  the  line  of  his  ambition  by  the  establishment 
of  the  mission  church,  known  as  the  Church  of 
the  Reedemer,  in  the  heart  of  Benham's  arid 
social  quarter,  as  an  adjunct  to  St.  Stephen's,  and 
to  be  maintained  by  the  generosity  of  that  body 
of  Christians.  When  this  undertaking  was  in  full 
operation,  under  the  direction  of  a  competent 
curate,  Mr.  Prentiss  experienced  fewer  qualms  as 
he  looked  down  from  his  reading-desk  at  the  gay 
bonnets  and  costly  toilets  of  his  own  parishion 
ers.  He  had  been  assured  by  several  women  ac 
tive  in  church  work  that  the  independent  poor 
were  not  fond  of  worshipping  where  their  clothes 
would  show  at  a  disadvantage.  As  a  Christian 
who  was  an  American,  he  deplored  the  formation 
of  classes  in  the  sheep-fold  of  the  church;  yet  he 
reasoned  that  the  preferences  of  human  nature 
could  not  be  ignored  altogether  in  a  matter  of  this 
kind,  and  it  was  evident  that  his  parishioners  pre 
ferred  to  worship  God  in  full  possession  of  their 
property  rights,  surrounded  by  their  social  ac 
quaintance.  There  was  a  zest,  too,  in  the  knowl 
edge  that  he  was  the  rector  of  the  important  and 
powerful  people  of  the  city,  and  that  he  had  the 
opportunity  to  denounce  the  commercial  spirit  of 

27 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

the  age  in  the  presence  of  men  like  Carleton  How 
ard,  the  millionaire,  and  women  like  his  sister, 
Mrs.  Randolph  Wilson,  and  their  friends.  If  he 
could  reach  their  hearts,  what  might  he  not  hope 
for?  Obviously  by  the  support  of  this  class  the 
Church  could  not  fail  to  increase  its  revenues  and 
extend  its  power.  The  triumph  of  the  Church 
was  after  all,  for  him,  the  essential  thing — the 
illumination  of  the  souls  of  men  through  faith  in 
the  Christian  ideal.  So  with  this  end  constantly 
in  view,  Rev.  George  Prentiss  ministered  to  his 
well-favored  congregation  in  St.  Stephen's,  and 
vicariously,  and  often  by  personal  service,  con 
ducted  a  crusade  against  ignorance  and  sin  in  the 
Church  of  the  Redeemer  and  its  neighborhood. 


28 


Ill 


ONSTANCE  FORBES  had  been  one  of  the 
students  who  found  a  haven  on  the  free 
benches  at  St.  Stephen's.  Almost  at  once  Mr. 
Prentiss  noticed  her  and,  struck  by  her  interesting 
face,  he  sent  the  church  deaconess,  Mrs.  Ham 
mond,  to  visit  her  at  her  lodgings.  She  was  in 
vited  to  join  a  Bible  class  of  young  women  of  her 
own  age,  and  welcomed  to  the  social  parlor  in  the 
vestry  provided  for  girls  who,  like  herself,  were 
strangers  in  Benham.  Here  there  were  maga 
zines,  writing  materials,  and  afternoon  tea. 
While  availing  herself  of  these  privileges,  Con 
stance  frequently  met  her  rector.  He  inquired 
sympathetically  concerning  her  work  and  aspira 
tions,  and  showed  afterward  that  he  kept  her  dis 
tinctly  in  mind.  She  felt  that  she  could  freely  con 
sult  him  if  she  were  in  need  of  advice;  once  or 
twice  she  did  consult  him  about  her  reading;  and 
she  was  gratified  by  the  interest  which  he  took  in 
her  marriage. 

Consequently,  the  idea  of  not  attending  morn 
ing  service  was  distressing  to  her.  She  felt  sure 
that  Mr.  Prentiss  would  notice  it  and  be  disap 
pointed.  Yet,  what  were  Mr.  Prentiss  and  his 
feelings  in  comparison  with  her  obligation  to  her 
husband?  Emil's  Sundays  were  spoiled  because 
she  would  not  accompany  him  to  the  country  in 
stead  of  going  to  church.  His  attitude  was  unrea- 

29 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

sonable  and  absurd,  but  the  fact  remained  that  he 
did  not  go  alone,  and  lounged  at  home  instead. 
After  all,  she  was  no  longer  a  girl,  and  her  re 
ligious  faith  would  not  be  imperilled  were  she  to 
miss  church  now  and  then.  Moreover,  though 
she  held  fast  to  her  creed  and  deplored  Emil's 
radical  views,  she  knew  in  her  heart  that  she  was 
more  critical  than  formerly  of  what  she  heard  in 
church,  and  that  she  was  sometimes  driven  by  her 
doubts  as  to  the  possibility  of  supernatural  hap 
penings  to  seek  refuge  behind  the  impenetrable 
fortress  of  a  righteous  life.  There  she  was  safe 
and  happy,  and  free,  it  seemed  to  her,  from  the 
responsibility  of  harassing  her  young  housewife's 
brains  with  non-essentials.  Might  it  not  be  for 
her  own  advantage  to  take  a  respite  from  religious 
functions?  Certainly  her  companionship  to  Emil 
seemed  more  important  at  the  moment  than  her 
own  habit  of  public  worship. 

She  began  by  staying  away  from  church  occa 
sionally.  Emil  expressed  delight  at  her  reason 
ableness  and  carried  out  with  zest  his  plan  of  a 
Sunday  outing.  It  was  a  simple  matter  on  their 
bicycles,  or  by  a  few  minutes  in  the  train,  to  reach 
country  air  and  sylvan  scenes,  and  he  was  entirely 
satisfied  to  spend  the  day  in  tramping  through  the 
woods  and  fields,  stopping  to  fish  or  to  lie  in  the 
sun  as  the  humor  seized  him.  The  working-man's 
Sabbath,  he  termed  it.  The  programme  was  rest 
ful  and  alluring  to  Constance  also.  Her  husband 
on  these  occasions  seemed  less  at  odds  with  the 
world,  and  willing  to  enjoy  himself  without  ran 
cor  or  argument.  After  their  luncheon  he  would 
smoke  complacently  for  awhile  and  then  take  up 

30 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

his  fiddle  and  practise  upon  it  with  genuine  con 
tent  for  an  hour  or  more,  while  she  sat  with  her 
back  against  a  tree  or  a  bank,  reading.  He  still 
drank  his  bottles  of  beer,  but  if  he  slumbered,  it 
was  only  for  a  brief  period.  He  never  neglected 
his  fiddle,  and  its  influence  appeared,  as  it  were, 
to  soothe  his  savage  breast,  and  to  make  him 
good-humored  and  agreeably  philosophic.  He 
was  too  fond  of  theorizing  to  neglect  altogether 
these  opportunities  for  the  enunciation  of  his 
grievances  against  civilization,  but  he  was  lively 
instead  of  bitter,  a  distinction  which  meant  much 
to  his  wife. 

When  their  first  baby  was  born,  these  Sunday 
excursions  were  temporarily  discontinued;  but 
Constance  was  eager  to  renew  them,  for  Emil, 
after  going  alone  a  few  times,  relapsed  into  his 
old  habits.  Accordingly,  as  soon  as  the  little  one 
was  able  to  toddle,  a  child's  wagon  was  procured, 
which  Emil  was  ready  to  draw,  and  by  avoiding 
fences  and  other  barriers,  the  difficulties  presented 
by  this  new  tie  were  overcome.  By  the  time  the 
child  was  a  year  and  a  half  old,  Constance  realized 
that  she  had  been  to  church  but  once  in  the  last 
twelve  months. 

This  had  been  partly  due  to  the  action  of  the 
rector  of  St.  Stephen's,  for  Constance  knew  within 
a  few  weeks  of  her  first  absences  from  church  that 
her  conduct  had  been  noticed.  The  curate,  Mr. 
Starkworth,  inquired  at  the  door  if  there  had  been 
illness  in  the  family.  Later  the  deaconess  made 
a  call  of  friendly  observation,  in  the  course  of 
which  it  transpired  that  Mr.  Prentiss  had  ob 
served  that  Mrs.  Stuart  no  longer  occupied  her 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

seat.  The  culprit  did  not  attempt  to  explain,  and 
within  a  fortnight  she  received  a  visit  from  the 
rector  himself.  No  one  could  have  been  more 
affable  and  reassuring.  He  established  himself 
in  an  easy  chair  and  accepted  graciously  the  cigar 
which  Emil  proffered  him.  He  was  a  large  man 
of  dignified  mien  and  commanding  person,  cleri 
cal  as  to  his  dress  and  visage,  but  with  a  manner 
of  conversation  approximating  that  of  men  of  the 
world — an  individual  manifestation  which  was 
intended  to  reveal  a  modern  spirit.  He  was 
clearly  a  person  with  whom  liberties  could  not  be 
taken,  and  yet  evidently  one  who  desired  to  divest 
his  point  of  view  of  cant,  and  to  put  religion  on  a 
man  to  man,  business  basis  so  far  as  was  consist 
ent  with  his  sacred  calling.  He  asked  genial 
questions  concerning  their  domestic  welfare,  and 
the  progress  of  the  new  lumber  firm,  spoke 
shrewdly  of  local  politics  in  which  he  supposed 
that  Stuart  was  engaged,  and  sought  obviously  to 
give  the  impression  that  he  was  an  all-round  man 
in  his  sympathies,  and  that  he  took  an  active  in 
terest  in  temporal  matters.  When  at  last  there 
was  a  favorable  pause  in  the  current  of  this  secular 
conversation,  Mr.  Prentiss  laid  his  hands  on  his 
knees,  and,  bending  forward  and  looking  from 
one  to  the  other  in  a  friendly  way,  said  with  de 
cision  : 

"I  have  missed  you  two  young  people  at  church 
lately." 

Constance  winced  at  the  inquiry,  and  her  eyes 
fell  beneath  the  clergyman's  searching  gaze.  She 
could  not  deny  the  impeachment,  which  was  em 
barrassing.  At  the  same  time  the  color  had 

32 


I  have  missed  you  t\vo  young  people  at  church  lately 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

scarcely  mounted  to  her  cheeks  before  she  felt  the 
force  of  her  defence  rising  to  her  support,  and  she 
looked  up.  She  appreciated  that  it  was  incum 
bent  on  her,  as  the  active  church  member,  to  re 
spond,  and  she  became  suddenly  solicitous  lest 
Emil  might,  and  so  make  matters  worse.  In 
truth,  Emil's  first  impulse  had  been  toward  anger. 
It  was  one  of  his  maxims  not  to  submit  to  brow 
beating.  But  what  he  regarded  as  the  humor  of 
the  proceeding  changed  his  wrath  into  scorn,  and 
he  closed  his  teeth  on  his  pipe  with  the  dogged  air 
of  a  master  of  the  situation  willing  to  be  amused 
withal.  Mr.  Prentiss  divined  in  a  flash,  from  the 
insolence  of  this  expression,  that  he  had  to  deal 
with  a  hopeless  case — so  far  as  the  human  soul 
can  ever  seem  hopeless  to  the  missionary — a  con 
temptuous  materialist,  and  his  own  countenance 
grew  grave  as  he  turned  back  to  the  wife. 

"Yes,  we  have  been  very  little,  Mr.  Prentiss. 
My  husband,  you  know,  does  not  belong  to  your 
church.  He  went  with  me  while  we  were  engaged, 
but — but  now  I  think  I  can  help  him  best  by  stay 
ing  away  for  the  present." 

"You  go  elsewhere,  then?" 

"No.  We  do  not  go  to  church.  We  spend  our 
Sundays  in  the  country — in  the  fresh  air,  walking 
and  resting.  We  take  our  luncheon,  and  my  hus 
band  brings  his  fiddle  and  his  fishing  rod." 

Constance  marvelled  at  her  own  boldness,  and 
at  the  ardor  with  which  she  delivered  her  plea  of 
justification. 

"I  understand,"  said  Mr.  Prentiss.  His  tone 
was  sober,  but  not  impatient.  The  argument  for 
a  day  of  rest  and  recreation  for  the  tired  man  of 

33 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

affairs  was  nothing  new  to  him.  Nor  was  Mr. 
Prentiss  ignorant  of  its  plausible  value.  He 
wished  to  meet  it  without  temper,  as  one  rational 
being  discussing  with  another,  notwithstanding 
eternal  verities  were  concerned. 

"Supposing,  Mrs.  Stuart,  that  everyone  were 
to  reason  in  the  same  way,  what  would  become  of 
our  churches?" 

"They  would  have  to  go  out  of  commission," 
muttered  Emil  with  delighted  brusqueness. 

The  rector  saw  fit  to  bear  this  brutality  with 
out  offence.  He  ignored  the  commentator  with 
his  eyes,  as  though  to  indicate  that  his  mission  was 
solely  to  the  wife,  but  he  answered, 

"They  would,  and  the  Christian  faith  would 
perish  in  the  process.  Are  you,  Mrs.  Stuart,"  he 
continued,  "prepared  to  do  without  the  offices  of 
religion,  and  to  substitute  for  them  a  pagan  holi 
day?" 

"We  pass  the  day  very  quietly  and  simply," 
said  Constance.  "We  disturb  no  one  and  inter 
fere  with  no  one." 

"But  you  become  pagans,  utterly." 

"I  try  to  think  that  God  hears  my  prayers  in 
the  open  air  no  less  than  in  church,  while  I  am 
keeping  my  husband  company."  It  wounded  her 
to  oppose  her  rector,  yet  the  need  of  a  champion 
for  her  husband's  cause  supplied  her  with  speech, 
and  gave  to  her  countenance  quiet  determination. 
Constance  possessed  one  of  those  lithe,  nervous 
personalities,  so  frequently  to  be  met  with  in 
American  women  of  every  class,  the  signal  at 
tribute  of  which  is  bodily  and  mental  refinement. 
Her  hair  was  dark,  her  face  thin,  her  eyes  brown 

34 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

and  wistful,  her  figure  tall  and  elastic;  her  pretty 
countenance  had  the  charm  of  temperament  rather 
than  mere  flesh  and  blood,  and  its  sympathetic, 
intelligent  comeliness  suggested  spiritual  vigor. 

Mr.  Prentiss  was  not  blind  to  these  qualities. 
They  had  attracted  him  at  the  beginning  of  their 
acquaintance,  and  he  was  the  more  solicitous  on 
account  of  them  to  reclaim  her  from  error. 

"God  hears  your  prayers  wherever  you  utter 
them,  be  assured  of  that.  But  I  ask  you  to  con 
sider  whether  the  habit  of  neglecting  public  wor 
ship  is  not  a  failure  in  reverence  to  the  Christ  who 
listens  to  our  supplications  and  without  whose  aid 
we  are  helpless  to  overcome  sin." 

Emil  had  been  delighted  by  his  wife's  sturdy 
attitude.  Now  that  a  question  of  doctrine  was 
brought  into  the  discussion,  he  felt  that  the  time 
had  come  for  him  to  intervene  again.  "We  who 
worship  in  the  presence  of  nature  are  not  ham 
pered  by  dogmas  of  that  kind,"  he  said.  "Temp 
tation  is  temptation,  and  I  for  one  have  never 
been  able  to  understand  why  the  man  who  gets 
the  better  of  it  isn't  entitled  to  the  credit  of  his 
strength  and  sense.  My  wife  looks  at  such  things 
very  much  as  I  do." 

"Not  altogether,  Emil.  You  know  I  miss  not 
going  to  church." 

"I  have  never  prevented  you  from  going." 

"But  you  have  discountenanced  it,  man.  It  is 
to  please  you,  and  to  humor  your  views  that  your 
wife  is  sacrificing  her  most  sacred  convictions," 
Mr.  Prentiss  exclaimed  with  a  touch  of  sternness. 

"You  think  church-going  of  the  utmost  im 
portance;  I  do  not.  There's  where  we  differ. 

35 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Everyone  must  decide  those  questions  for  himself 
—or  herself." 

The  rector  resented  the  smug  assurance  of  the 
retort  by  a  frown  and  a  twist  of  his  shoulders,  as 
though  he  were  sorry  that  he  had  condescended 
to  bandy  words  with  this  irreverent  person. 

"Yes,  we  all  must,"  he  said,  addressing  Con 
stance.  "  'He  that  loveth  father  or  mother  more 
than  me  is  not  worthy  of  me.'  ' 

He  regretted  the  next  instant  having  indulged 
in  this  clerical  formula,  which  was  foreign  to  his 
usual  method. 

Constance  flushed  at  the  words  of  Scripture, 
then  she  drew  herself  up  slightly  and  said: 

"I  am  very  sorry,  indeed,  to  disappoint  you, 
Mr.  Prentiss,  but  I  can't  promise  to  attend  church 
regularly  at  present.  Perhaps  it  is  true,  as  my 
husband  says,  that  my  opinions  have  changed 
somewhat  in  regard  to  points  of  faith.  I  hope — 
I  shall  pray  that  after  a  time  we  may  both  come 
back  to  you." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  finality  of  this  un 
equivocal  but  gently  uttered  speech,  and  Mr. 
Prentiss  knew  that  one  of  the  signs  of  a  man  of 
the  world  is  the  capacity  to  take  a  hint.  Though 
it  galled  him  to  leave  this  attractive  member  of 
his  flock  in  the  clutches  of  one  so  apparently  unfit 
to  appreciate  her  bodily  or  spiritual  graces,  he 
recognized  that  to  press  the  situation  at  this  point 
could  result  only  in  separating  her  still  further 
from  the  influence  of  the  church.  "You  shall 
have  my  prayers,  too — both  of  you,"  he  said,  fer 
vently.  Then  he  arose  and  resumed  the  demeanor 
of  a  friendly  caller. 

36 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

But  Emil,  now  that  he  had  shown  clearly  that 
he  had  the  courage  of  his  convictions,  felt  the  need 
of  vindicating  his  character  as  a  host.  He  said 
jauntily,  "I  hope  there's  no  offence  in  standing  up 
for  what  one  believes  to  be  true.  It's  one  of  the 
greatest  poets,  you  know,  who  wrote 

There  lives  more  faith  in  honest  doubt, 
Believe  me,  than  in  half  the  creeds." 

"You  young  whipper  snapper!"  was  Mr.  Pren- 
tiss's  unuttered  comment,  but  he  did  not  relax  his 
lay  serenity  of  manner  save  by  the  slight  vein  of 
sarcasm  which  his  words  contained.  "No  offence, 
certainly.  But  you  should  also  bear  in  mind, 
young  man,  that  others  no  less  mentally  qualified 
than  yourself  have  pondered  the  problems  of  the 
universe  and  come  to  very  different  conclusions. 
A  man  takes  large  responsibilities  upon  himself 
in  deciding  to  deprive  his  wife  and  children  of  the 
comforts  of  religion." 

"I  am  anxious  that  my  children  when  they  grow 
up  may  not  be  obliged,  as  I  was,  to  unlearn  what 
they  were  taught  to  believe  in  their  youth,"  Emil 
retorted  with  smiling  effrontery.  He  was  pleased 
with  his  wife  and  with  himself  and  he  was  glad  to 
get  in  a  final  body  blow  on  the  person  of  this 
officious  shimmer,  as  he  subsequently  described 
their  visitor. 

"I  am  not  unfamiliar  with  that  line  of  argu 
ment,"  said  Mr.  Prentiss,  in  the  act  of  departure. 
"But  I  invite  you  to  consider  whether  your  chil 
dren,  when  they  are  old  enough  to  think  for  them 
selves,  will  be  grateful  for  the  substitute  which 

37 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

you  offer  for  doctrine.  They  ask  for  bread,  and 
what  do  you  give  them?  A  stone." 

Emil  laughed.  He  was  content  to  let  the  par 
son  have  the  last  word.  He  stood  for  a  moment 
on  the  door-step  watching  him  march  down  the 
street.  He  felt  that  he  had  turned  the  tables  on 
him  completely  and  had  thereby  won  a  victory  for 
clear  thinking  and  freedom  of  thought.  He  ex 
claimed  exultantly  as  he  re-entered  the  parlor,  "I 
guess  that'll  teach  the  old  duck  to  stay  in  his  own 
barn-yard  and  not  come  waddling  down  here  to 
try  to  get  us  to  believe  that  the  world  was  made  in 
seven  days  and  Jonah  was  swallowed  by  the 
whale." 

Constance,  who  had  fallen  into  troubled  reverie, 
looked  up  and  exclaimed  with  emphasis,  "Mr. 
Prentiss  is  a  very  reasonable  man  about  such  mat 
ters,  Emil.  He  used  particularly  to  tell  his  Bible 
class  that  the  language  of  the  Old  Testament  is 
sometimes  metaphorical." 

"Yes,  I  know  how  the  clergy  jump  and  change 
feet  to  avoid  being  cornered.  I'm  aware  they  ex 
plain  that  the  seven  days  were  not  our  days  of 
twenty-four  hours,  but  were  symbolic  terms  for 
geological  stretches  of  time.  Do  you  call  that  in 
genuous?" 

Constance  winced.  It  happened  that  Mr.  Pren 
tiss  had  offered  just  this  explanation  of  holy  writ, 
and  somehow,  now  that  Emil  held  it  up  to  scorn, 
the  rector's  commentary  appeared  flimsy.  She 
sighed,  then  with  emotion  said,  "Emil,  I  wish  you 
would  tell  me  what  you  really  do  believe." 

"Believe?"  He  smiled  indulgently  as  he 
echoed  his  wife's  inquiry,  but  his  eyes  snapped  and 

38 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

his  shock  of  hair  seemed  to  stand  up  straighten 
His  manner  expressed  a  mixture  of  amused  con 
descension  and  the  tartness  of  a  dogged  spirit  sus 
picious  of  attack.  "I  believe,  for  one  thing,  that 
the  laws  of  nature  are  never  violated,  and  that 
their  integrity  is  a  grander  attribute  of  divinity 
than  the  various  sensational  devices  which  the 
orthodox  maintain  that  an  all-wise  God  employs 
to  attract  the  attention  of  men  to  Himself.  I  be 
lieve  also  that  you  in  your  secret  soul  entirely  agree 
with  me." 

Constance  was  silent  a  moment.  "And  yet  you 
haven't  answered  my  question,  Emil.  You  haven't 
told  me  what  you  do  believe.  Why  isn't  religion 
just  as  real  and  true  a  part  of  man  as  any  other 
instinct  of  his  being?  It  has  been  a  constantly 
growing  attribute." 

"And  the  nonsense  is  being  gradually  squeezed 
out  of  it.  Why  should  I  accept  the  dogma  of  that 
reverend  father  in  God  that  a  man  can  do  noth 
ing  by  his  own  efforts?  Isn't  it  a  finer  thought 
that  we  grow  by  virtue  of  our  struggles  and  that 
the  free  and  independent  soul  wins  the  battle  of 
life  by  making  the  most  of  itself?" 

Emil  spoke  with  fierce  rhetoric.  To  his  wife's 
ear  he  seemed  to  be  pointing  out  besides  that  his 
own  soul  was  fighting  this  battle  and  that  he  was 
willing  to  be  judged  by  the  results  regardless  of 
doctrine.  Constance  had  long  ago  convinced  her 
self  that  his  bark  was  worse  than  his  bite;  that  he 
believed  more  than  he  really  admitted  of  the  es 
sentials  of  religion;  that  he  acknowledged  his 
responsibility  to  God  and  was  devoting  his  days  to 
advancing  the  useful  work  of  the  world,  and  in- 

39 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

cidentally  providing  for  her  happiness  at  the  same 
time.  His  plea  for  credit  to  the  independent  soul 
which  overcame  temptation  and  obstacles  was,  at 
least,  manly,  and  a  sign  of  courage.  She  scarcely 
heeded  the  quotation  from  the  "Rubaiyat,"  which 
he  wras  murmuring  as  a  corollary  to  his  apostrophe 
to  free  and  noble  endeavor. 

O  thou  who  didst  with  pitfall  and  with  gin 
Beset  the  path  I  was  to  wander  in, 

Thou  wilt  not  with  predestined  evil  round 
Enmesh  and  then  impute  my  fall  to  sin  ? 

She  had  heard  him  quote  these  lines  and  others 
of  like  import  before,  and  she  had  learned  some 
of  them  by  rote.  She  recognized  their  charm  and 
cleverness  and  to  a  certain  extent  their  plausibility; 
but  she  had  not  the  slightest  impulse  to  revolu 
tionize  her  own  faith.  Her  absorbing  thought, 
for  the  moment,  was  how  to  be  true  to  her  husband 
without  being  false  to  the  church.  Mr.  Prentiss, 
in  spite  of  his  appeal,  had  left  her  conscience  un 
convinced,  and  now  her  clear-headed,  fearless  Emil 
had  suddenly  given  her  soul  the  cue  to  expression. 
Her  brown  eyes  kindled  rapturously  and  trustfully 
as  she  said: 

"It's  the  life  after  all  which  counts,  isn't  it? 
Everything  else  is  of  secondary  importance." 

"Of  course,"  said  Emil.  "And  when  it  comes 
to  that,"  he  added,  "there's  no  one  in  the  world 
who  can  pick  a  flaw  in  yours,  you  little  saint." 

"You  mustn't  say  things  like  that,"  Constance 
murmured.  Nevertheless,  so  far  as  it  was  a  man 
ifestation  of  confidence  from  the  man  she  loved,  it 
was  pleasant  to  hear. 

40 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

From  this  time  her  attendance  at  church  was 
very  infrequent.  She  did  not  cease  to  go  alto 
gether,  but  almost  every  Sunday  was  spent  in  ex 
peditions  in  the  open  air.  The  cares  resulting 
from  the  birth  of  two  children  necessarily  inter 
fered  with  her  going  regularly  to  service  while 
they  were  infants,  and  as  soon  as  they  were  able 
to  walk,  the  Sunday  outings  were  resumed  with 
the  little  boy  and  girl  as  companions.  Mr.  Pren- 
tiss  did  not  revisit  the  house,  but  on  each  of  the 
two  or  three  occasions  when  Constance  occupied 
her  old  seat  in  St.  Stephen's,  she  felt  that  the  rec 
tor  had  noticed  her.  He  had  apparently  left  her 
to  her  devices,  but  his  glance  told  her  that  she  was 
not  forgotten. 


IV 


IT  is  fitting  and  fortunate  that  a  young  woman 
in  a  large  city,  who  has  given  her  happiness 
into  the  keeping  of  a  man  with  his  owrn  way  to 
make,  should  be  ignorant  of  her  peril,  and  that 
charmed  by  love  she  should  take  for  granted  that 
he  will  succeed.  But  the  rest  of  the  world  has  no 
excuse  for  being  equally  blind,  since  the  rest  of 
the  world  is  aware  that  there  is  no  recipe  by  which 
a  girl  of  twenty  can  secure  a  guaranty  either  of 
domestic  happiness  or  ability  on  the  part  of  her 
lover  to  hold  his  own  in  the  competition  for  a 
livelihood.  It  is  easy  for  the  moralist  of  society, 
writing  at  his  desk,  to  utter  the  solemn  truth  that 
young  people  should  not  rush  hastily  into  mat 
rimony.  Assuredly  they  should  not.  But  after 
all,  is  it  to  be  wondered  at  that  so  many  of  them 
do?  Love  is  the  law  of  life.  The  renewal  of 
the  race  through  the  union  of  the  sexes  is  an  in 
stinct  which  asserts  itself  in  spite  of  code  and 
thesis,  and  the  institution  of  lawful  wedlock  is  the 
bit  by  which  civilization  regulates  it.  Let  us,  says 
the  modern  scientist,  isolate  the  degenerate  mem 
bers  of  society,  the  diseased,  the  vicious,  and  the 
improvident,  and  prevent  them  from  having  off 
spring.  But  still  the  priest  of  Rome,  eager  for 
fresh  converts,  but  wise,  too,  in  his  knowledge  of 
the  law  of  sex,  whispers  to  his  flock  "marry  early," 
and  adds  under  his  breath,  "lest  ye  sin."  It  is  a 

42 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

part  of  religion,  perhaps,  for  the  daughters  of 
the  well-to-do,  who  have  been  screened  from  con 
tact  with  the  rough  world,  and  who  sit  in  judg 
ment  on  several  lovers  in  the  paternal  drawing- 
room,  to  weigh  and  ponder  and  to  call  in  the  brain 
to  assist,  or  if  needs  be,  silence  the  heart.  Yet 
even  they  sometimes  elope  instead  with  the  wrong 
man  against  whom  they  have  been  warned,  and 
are  unhappy — or  happy — ever  afterward.  But 
when  we  turn  from  these  privileged  young  persons 
— the  pretty,  daintily  dressed  young  women  in 
their  Easter  bonnets,  who  worship  at  our  fash 
ionable  churches — and  from  some  height  look  out 
over  wide  stretches  of  streets  with  every  house 
alike,  the  homes  of  the  average  working  popula 
tion,  and  reflect  that  every  house  shelters  the  con 
sequences  of  a  marriage,  shall  we  ask  pitilessly, 
"How  came  ye  so?"  And  if  the  answer  of  some 
be  "we  met  and  loved  and  married,  and  now  we 
are  miserable,"  shall  we  draw  ourselves  up  and 
tell  them  that  the  fault  is  theirs,  that  marriages 
are  (or  should  be)  made  in  heaven,  and  that  they 
ought  to  have  discovered  before  they  plighted 
their  troth  that  John  would  be  a  rascal  or  Mary 
a  slattern?  Is  it  not  the  privilege  and  the  bless 
ing  of  the  young  to  trust?  Shall  we  blame  them 
if,  in  the  ignorance  of  youth  and  under  the  spell 
of  the  law  of  their  beings,  they  mistake  unworthy 
souls  for  their  ideals? 

The  firm  of  Stuart  &  Robinson,  dealers  in  lum 
ber,  had  started  with  a  small  capital,  but  the 
senior  partner  had  confidence  in  his  capacity  to 
do  a  large  business.  His  late  employers,  Toler 
&  Company,  according  to  his  opinion,  had  been 

43 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

old  fogies  in  their  methods.  To  adopt  his  own 
metaphor,  instead  of  getting  up  early  and  shak 
ing  the  trees,  they  expected  to  have  ripe  peaches 
served  to  them  on  Sevres  china,  or,  in  other 
words,  they  let  great  opportunities  slip  through 
their  fingers.  He  proceeded  during  the  first  year 
to  carry  out  several  enterprises  which  he  had  vainly 
called  to  their  attention  while  in  their  service,  and 
he  had  the  satisfaction  of  proving  his  wisdom 
and  of  doubling  the  firm's  assets  at  the  same  time. 
Emil's  plans  were  essentially  on  a  large  scale,  and 
he  was  confessedly  cramped  even  after  this  suc 
cess.  He  explained  to  his  wife  that  if  only  he 
had  the  necessary  capital,  he  would  be  able  at  one 
fell  swoop  to  control  the  lumber  yards  and  lum 
ber  market  of  Benham.  As  it  was,  he  must  wait 
and  probably  see  others  appropriate  ideas  which 
he  had  suggested  by  his  novel  and  brilliant  opera 
tions.  The  prophecy  indeed  proved  true,  and 
Emil  saw  with  a  morose  eye  what  he  called  his 
harvest  gleaned  by  others.  This  vindictive  atti 
tude  toward  the  successful  was  the  invariable 
frame  of  mind  into  which  he  relapsed  when  he  was 
not  carrying  everything  before  him,  and  as  a  re 
sult  those  in  the  trade  presently  began  to  speak  of 
him  as  a  crank.  His  quick  comprehension  was 
admitted,  but  his  associates  shook  their  heads  when 
his  name  was  mentioned,  and  hinted  that  he  was 
a  dangerous  man,  who  would  bear  watching.  It 
was  almost  inevitable  that  a  lean  period  should 
follow  Emil's  series  of  clever  undertakings. 
Toward  the  end  of  the  second  year,  he  found  him 
self  in  a  position  where  he  had  not  the  means  to 
enlarge  the  scope  of  his  operations.  His  work- 

44 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ing  capital  was  locked  up  in  sundry  purchases 
which  he  had  expected  would  show  quick  profits, 
but  which  hung  fire.  If  he  liquidated,  it  must  be 
at  a  loss,  and  the  idea  of  a  loss  was  always  bitter 
to  him.  During  a  number  of  months  he  was 
obliged  to  renounce  certain  plans  which  he  had  in 
view  and  to  remain  inactive.  A  falling  lumber 
market  added  to  his  complications.  Prompt  to 
act  when  he  was  convinced  of  error,  he  sold  out 
at  last  his  accumulated  stock  at  a  loss,  which 
would  have  been  much  greater  had  he  delayed  a 
week  longer.  But  he  was  left  almost  in  the  same 
position  as  when  he  started;  the  previous  profits 
had  been  cut  in  two.  This  was  wormwood  to  his 
restless  soul.  It  made  him  moody  and  cynical  at 
home,  where  one  child  and  the  near  advent  of  an 
other  foreshadowed  increasing  expenses.  He  had 
expected  by  this  time  to  be  on  the  high  road  to 
fortune,  and  to  be  imitating  the  swift  progress  of 
certain  individuals  in  Benham,  who  even  in  the 
short  period  since  he  had  been  a  citizen,  had  risen 
by  their  superior  wits  from  poverty  to  affluence 
and  power. 

But  Emil's  fits  of  depression  were  invariably 
succeeded  by  intervals  of  buoyancy.  Though  he 
still  talked  bitterly  at  home  of  the  methods  by 
which  cold-hearted  capital  squeezed  the  small  man 
to  the  wall  and  robbed  him  of  his  gains,  he  began 
to  scheme  anew,  and  to  argue  that  the  assets  in 
his  control  were  still  ample  for  a  great  success  if 
shrewdly  handled.  The  lumber  market  was  in 
the  doldrums,  dull  and  drooping.  It  began  to 
look  as  though  some  of  the  industries  of  Benham 
had  been  developed  too  rapidly,  and  as  though  a 

45 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

halt,  or  what  financiers  call  a  healthy  reaction  in 
values,  were  in  order.  Could  it  be  possible  that 
all  prices  in  Benham  were  inflated?  The  idea  oc 
curred  to  Emil  one  day,  and  he  jumped  at  it 
eagerly.  It  took  possession  of  him.  He  fever 
ishly  began  to  examine  statistics,  and  found  that 
Benham  had  experienced  only  one  period  of  de 
pression  since  its  birth  as  a  city  at  the  close  of  the 
Civil  War.  It  was  time  for  another,  and  the  men 
who  were  clever  enough  to  anticipate  it  would 
reap  the  reward  of  their  sagacity.  What  were 
the  staples  of  Benham?  Oil,  pork,  and  manu 
factured  iron.  These  were  the  industries  which 
had  given  the  chief  impetus  to  the  city's  growth, 
and  were  its  great  source  of  wealth.  Emil  pon 
dered  the  situation  and  decided  to  sell  pork  short. 
If  a  general  shrinkage  in  values  was  impending, 
the  price  of  pork  was  certain  to  decline.  He  had 
hitherto  felt  so  confident  of  making  money  in  his 
own  line  of  business  that  he  had  never  done  more 
than  cast  sheep's  eyes  at  the  stock  market  or  the 
markets  in  grain,  oil,  and  pork  futures.  It  had 
been  his  expectation  to  try  ventures  of  this  sort 
as  soon  as  his  capital  was  large  enough  for  im 
portant  transactions.  It  was  a  favorite  notion  of 
his  that  after  he  had  acquired  the  first  one  hun 
dred  thousand  dollars,  he  would  be  able  to  quad 
ruple  it  in  a  very  short  time  by  bold  dealings  in 
stocks  or  commodities.  He  knew  now  that  he  had 
merely  to  step  into  a  broker's  office  and  sell  pork 
in  Chicago  by  wire.  It  was  a  simple  thing  to  do 
and  the  shrewd  thing,  considering  his  own  bus 
iness  offered  no  opportunity  at  the  moment  for 
brilliancy. 

46 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

To  speak  to  his  partner  seemed  to  Emil  unnec 
essary.  He  promised  himself  that  after  he  had 
put  the  firm  on  its  feet  again  he  would  deal  gen 
erously  with  Robinson.  Since  their  late  reverses 
the  partnership  was  not  borrowing  much  money, 
so  its  credit  was  not  exhausted.  Emil  obtained 
from  his  bank  as  large  a  loan  as  he  dared  to  ask 
for,  and  began  to  sell  pork  short  on  the  strength 
of  the  proceeds.  It  was  a  process  which  requires 
small  capital  at  the  outset.  That  is,  he  had  simply 
to  keep  his  margin  good  in  case  the  pork  which 
he  sold  rose  in  value.  To  begin  with  he  sold  only 
a  few  hundred  barrels,  and  within  a  fortnight  the 
price  fell  smartly.  Not  only  the  price  of  pork, 
but  of  stocks,  grain,  and  merchandise.  Emil  con 
gratulated  himself.  Evidently  he  was  correct  in 
his  judgment  that  a  period  of  lower  speculative 
values  was  at  hand.  The  proper  thing  would  be 
to  sell  everything  and  reap  a  huge  fortune  before 
the  dull  general  public  awoke  to  the  truth.  His 
own  limited  resources  forbade  this,  which  was  irri 
tating.  Still,  he  could  go  on  selling  pork  short, 
and  this  he  continued  to  do. 

The  proceeding  elated  him,  for  the  sudden  and 
large  profit  was  in  a  sense  a  revelation.  He  re 
gretted  that  he  had  never  before  tried  this  method 
of  demonstrating  his  business  shrewdness.  He 
felt  that  it  suited  him  admirably.  He  would  be 
no  rash-headed  fool;  he  would  sell  boldly,  but  in 
telligently;  he  would  keep  his  eye  on  the  general 
market,  and  not  cover  his  shorts  until  the  general 
situation  changed.  If  a  serious  decline  in  the 
prices  of  everything  were  in  store  for  Benham — 
and  the  indications  of  this  were  multiplying  from 

47 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

week  to  week — the  price  of  pork  might  drop  out 
of  sight,  so  to  speak,  and  he  win  a  fortune  as  a 
consequence.  It  was  the  chance  of  a  lifetime.  He 
reasoned  that  he  would  keep  cool  and  make  a  big 
thing  of  it;  that  a  small  fellow  would  be  content 
with  a  few  thousands  and  run  to  cover,  but  he  in 
tended  to  be  one  of  the  big  fellows.  Why  take  his 
profit  when  the  whole  financial  horizon  was 
ominous  with  clouds,  and  money  was  becoming 
tighter  every  day? 

Emil's  reasoning  was  perfect.  The  course  of 
prices  was  exactly  as  he  had  predicted;  that  is,  the 
price  of  everything  except  pork.  The  unexpected 
happened  there,  and  this  from  a  cause  which  no 
shrewd  person  could  have  foreseen.  One  day 
when,  in  the  parlance  of  trade,  the  bottom  seemed 
to  be  dropping  out  of  all  the  markets,  a  despatch 
appeared  in  the  newspapers  stating  that  a  peculiar 
disease  had  broken  out  among  the  hogs  in  West 
ern  Illinois.  The  pork  market  stiffened,  but  be 
came  flat  at  the  advance  after  somebody  declared 
the  story  to  be  a  canard  invented  by  the  bulls  to 
bolster  up  their  holdings.  Emil,  adopting  this 
explanation,  and  certain  that  this  cunning  strat 
agem  to  check  the  decline  would  prove  unavailing, 
sold  more  pork. 

A  week  later — one  Saturday  preceding  a  Mon 
day  which  was  to  be  a  holiday — there  were  rumors 
in  Chicago,  just  before  the  close  of  the  Exchange, 
that  the  disease  among  the  hogs  was  no  mere  local 
manifestation;  that  it  was  spreading  rapidly,  and 
had  already  shown  itself  in  Indiana  and  Ohio. 
Pork  in  the  last  fifteen  minutes  bounded  upward 
and  closed  ominously  strong.  Before  the  market 

48 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

opened  on  the  following  Tuesday  it  was  definitely 
known  that  the  hogs  of  the  country  were  in  the 
grasp  of  an  epidemic,  the  precise  character  of 
which,  to  quote  the  press,  was  not  yet  determined, 
but  which,  in  the  opinion  of  those  most  competent 
to  judge,  would  render  the  flesh  of  the  animals 
attacked  by  the  dread  disease  unfit  for  food,  and 
their  lard  unwholesome.  When  the  market 
opened,  the  price  of  pork  was  so  high  that  Emil's 
margin  of  protection  was  wiped  out  as  thoroughly 
as  the  tide  wipes  out  the  sand  dyke  which  a  child 
erects  upon  the  beach.  He  was  unable  to  respond 
to  the  demand  made  on  him  for  money  to  keep 
his  account  with  his  broker  good,  and  was  sold  out 
before  night  at  a  loss — a  loss  which  left  him  in 
debt.  He  went  home  knowing  that  he  was  bank 
rupt,  and  that  his  firm  must  fail  the  moment  his 
note  at  the  bank  became  due,  even  if  the  broker  to 
whom  he  owed  five  thousand  dollars  over  and 
above  his  margins  did  not  press  him.  There  was 
no  escape  from  ruin  and  humiliation. 

He  disclosed  the  truth  to  Constance  with  the 
repressed  bitterness  of  a  Prometheus.  He  ex 
plained  to  her  with  the  mien  of  a  wounded  ani 
mal  at  bay  the  cruelty  of  the  trick  of  destiny  which 
had  crushed  him.  How  had  he  been  at  fault?  He 
had  been  shrewd,  far-seeing  and  prompt  to  act. 
The  wisdom  of  his  course  had  been  demonstrated 
by  the  fall  in  prices.  He  was  on  the  high  road  to 
fortune,  and  fate  had  stabbed  him  in  the  back. 
Could  any  intelligent  man  have  foreseen  that  the 
hogs  of  the  country  would  be  stricken  with  dis 
ease?  And  more  galling  still,  why  had  luck 
played  him  false  by  singling  out  the  only  possible 

49 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

combination  of  events  which  could  have  done  him 
harm? 

"An  all-wise  Providence!"  he  ejaculated  with  a 
scornful  laugh.  "A  man  looks  the  ground  over, 
uses  his  wits  and  is  reaping  the  benefit  of  his  intel 
ligence  when  he  is  struck  in  the  head  with  a  brick 
from  behind  a  hedge,  and  is  then  expected  to 
glorify  the  hand  which  smote  him.  How  could  it 
have  been  helped?  How  was  I  to  blame?"  he 
reiterated  with  a  fierce  look  at  his  wife. 

Constance  could  not  answer  the  question.  The 
details  of  business  were  a  sealed  book  to  her.  The 
brief  account  of  the  disaster  in  pork,  which  he  had 
just  given,  was  confusing  to  her,  and  had  left  her 
with  no  conviction  save  pity  for  her  husband.  She 
was  ready  to  take  his  word,  and  to  believe  that 
this  overwhelming  misfortune  was  the  result  of 
ill-luck  which  could  not  have  been  guarded  against. 
What  was  uppermost  in  her  mind  was  the  impulse 
to  help  and  comfort  him.  It  pained  her  that  he 
should  inveigh  against  fate,  though  she  recognized 
that  the  provocation  was  severe.  But  he  needed 
her  now  more  than  ever.  She  would  be  brave  and 
let  him  see  that  her  love  was  at  his  command. 

"You  mustn't  mind  too  much,  Emil,"  she  said. 
"We  have  to  start  again,  that's  all.  I  can  econo 
mize  in  lots  of  ways,  and  we  shall  manage  some 
how,  I'm  sure.  We  have  the  house,  you  know. 
If  it's  necessary — in  order  to  set  you  up  in  busi 
ness — we  can  mortgage  that.  We've  always  had 
that  to  fall  back  on." 

She  knew  as  she  spoke  that  from  the  standpoint 
of  prudence  the  offer  of  the  house  was  unwise.  If 
that  were  gone,  what  would  become  of  her  chil- 

50 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

dren?  Yet  she  felt  a  joy  in  tendering  it.  Why 
did  her  husband  look  at  her  with  that  malevolent 
gaze  as  though  she  had  contributed  to  his  dis 
tress  ? 

"If  you  had  put  a  mortgage  on  the  house  when 
I  first  started  in  business,  and  had  given  me  the 
benefit  of  a  larger  capital,  then  we  shouldn't  be 
where  we  are  to-day.  I  wanted  it  at  the  time,  but 
you  didn't  offer  it." 

"Oh,  Emil.  I  never  dreamt  that  you  wished  it. 
To  mortgage  our  home  then  would  have  been  rash, 
surely.  Besides,  if  I  had  given  it  to  you,  wouldn't 
it  have  been  lost  with  the  rest  now?" 

"Don't  you  understand,"  he  said,  roughly,  "that 
if  I  had  not  been  hampered  at  the  start  by  my 
small  capital,  I  should  never  have  been  forced  to 
go  outside  the  lumber  business  in  order  to  support 
my  family?  Another  five  thousand  dollars  would 
have  made  all  the  difference." 

His  glowering  look  seemed  to  suggest  that  he 
had  persuaded  himself  that  she  was  partly  to  blame 
for  what  had  happened.  Constance  was  ready  to 
make  every  allowance  for  him,  but  his  mood  of 
fered  fresh  evidence  of  the  crankiness  of  his  dis 
position,  a  revelation  to  which  her  devotion  could 
not  altogether  blind  her. 

"I  don't  understand  anything  about  the  business 
part,"  she  answered,  putting  her  arm  around  his 
neck.  "Oh,  Emil,  Emil,  I'm  so  sorry  for  you!  I 
wish  to  do  everything  I  can  to  help  you  and  show 
my  love  for  you.  This  is  a  dreadful  sorrow  for 
you  to  bear — for  us  both  to  bear.  But  it  has  come 
to  us,  and  we  mustn't  be  discouraged.  God  will 
give  us  strength  to  bear  it  if  we  let  him." 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"God?"  he  blurted.  "You  may  leave  God  out 
of  the  question  so  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

"Oh,  Emil,  it  grieves  me  to  hear  you  talk  like 
that." 

"And  it  grieves  me  that  you  should  aggravate 
my  trouble  by  cant  which  I  thought  you  had  out 
grown." 

"I  shall  never  outgrow  that,"  she  murmured, 
appreciating  suddenly  that  the  substitute  which  he 
offered  her  for  spiritual  resignation  was  a  cell 
bounded  by  four  stone  walls.  She  had  reached 
the  limit  of  her  apostacy,  and  she  shrank  irrevoca 
bly  from  the  final  step. 

"Of  course  the  rich  and  the  powerful  and  the 
fortunate,"  he  was  saying,  "encourage  the  delusion 
that  if  a  man's  knocked  out  as  I  am  he  ought  to 
believe  it's  for  the  best,  because  rubbish  of  that 
sort  keeps  together  the  social  system  on  which  they 
fatten.  Do  the  poor  in  the  tenements  in  Smith 
Street  over  there,"  he  asked  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand,  "believe  it's  for  the  best  that  they  should  go 
hungry  and  in  rags  while  Carleton  Howard  and 
his  peers  imitate  Antony  and  Cleopatra  ?  Ask  the 
operatives  in  the  factories  across  the  river  what 
they  think  of  the  justice  of  the  millionaire's  God? 
The  time  has  passed  when  you  can  fool  the  self- 
respecting  workingman  with  a  basket  of  coals  and 
a  tract  on  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  They  may  have 
their  heaven,  if  they'll  give  us  a  fair  share  of  this 
earth."  Emil  folded  his  arms  as  one  issuing  an 
ultimatum. 

Constance  realized  that  he  was  in  no  mood  to 
be  reasoned  with.  She  had  made  clear  that  she 
could  not  subscribe  to  his  doctrine  of  despair,  and 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

save  in  that  respect  she  was  eager  to  be  sympa 
thetic.  She  could  not  deny  the  inequalities  and 
apparent  injustice  of  civilization,  and  Emil's  plea 
that  he  had  been  crushed  by  an  accident  which  he 
could  not  have  avoided  not  only  wrung  her  heart, 
but  filled  it  with  a  sense  of  hostility  to  an  industrial 
system  which  permitted  its  deserving  members  to 
be  crushed  without  fault  of  their  own.  But  she 
felt  instinctively  that  the  best  sort  of  succor  which 
she  could  bring  was  of  the  practical  kind.  To 
morrow  was  before  them,  God  or  no  God,  and 
they  must  adjust  themselves  to  their  altered  cir 
cumstances,  take  thought  and  build  their  hopes 
anew. 

She  put  her  arm  around  his  neck  again  and 
kissed  him  silently.  Then  she  began  with  quiet 
briskness  to  make  preparations  for  the  evening 
meal.  It  was  the  maid's  afternoon  out,  and  Con 
stance  moved  as  though  she  were  glorying  in  the 
occupation.  Presently  she  said: 

"Of  course  I'll  dismiss  Sophy  to-morrow.  I  am 
proud  to  be  a  workingman's  wife,  Emil.  We'll 
soon  be  on  our  feet  again,  never  fear." 

The  suggestion  of  the  servant's  dismissal 
deepened  the  gloom  on  Emil's  face.  "I've  half  a 
mind  to  pull  up  stakes  and  move  to  New  York," 
he  muttered. 

"And  give  up  our  home?" 

He  frowned  at  the  involuntary  concern  in  her 
voice.  "What  use  is  a  home  in  a  place  where  a 
man  is  cramped  and  circumvented  in  every  big 
thing  he  attempts?  I  ought  to  have  moved  long 
ago." 

"I  am  ready  to  live  wherever  you  think  best, 

53 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Emil.  And  you  mustn't  forget,  dear,  that  my  trust 
and  faith  in  you  are  as  great  as  ever." 

Despondent  as  he  was,  his  habit  of  buoyancy 
was  already  groping  for  some  clue  to  a  brighter 
vision,  to  which  his  wife's  words  of  encouragement 
now  helped  him.  He  was  sitting  with  his  elbows 
resting  on  the  table  and  his  head  clasped  between 
his  hands.  "I'll  make  a  fresh  start — here,"  he 
said.  "They've  got  me  down,  but,  damn  them, 
I'll  show  them  that  they  can't  keep  me  there." 

Presently  he  arose,  and  walking  out  to  the 
kitchen  reappeared  with  a  goblet  and  two  bottles 
of  beer.  One  of  these  he  uncorked  and  poured  the 
contents  ostentatiously  so  that  the  froth  gathered. 
Raising  the  glass  he  buried  his  mouth  in  the  beer 
and  eagerly  drank  it  off.  He  set  down  the  goblet 
with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"And  what's  more,"  he  said,  "they  can't  deprive 
me  of  that." 

Constance  watched  him  with  a  troubled  look. 
She  shrank  at  this  time  of  his  distress  from  intimat 
ing  that  she  regarded  the  indulgence  of  this  appe 
tite  as  a  poor  sort  of  solace.  Besides,  a  glass  of 
beer  was  in  itself  nothing,  and  he  might  well  take 
offence  at  her  solicitude  as  an  invasion  of  his  rea 
sonable  comfort.  Yet  observation  had  taught  her 
that  he  was  becoming  more  and  more  fond  of 
seeking  a  respite  from  care  in  liberal  potations  of 
this  sort. 

She  restrained  her  inclination  to  interfere,  but 
she  saw  him  with  concern  consume  four  bottles 
in  the  course  of  the  evening.  The  serenity  of 
temper  which  this  produced — the  almost  indiffer 
ent  calm  following  the  storm — was  by  no  means 

54 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

encouraging.  To  be  sure  his  ugly  side  seemed 
entirely  in  abeyance.  Indeed,  he  took  down  his 
fiddle  and  played  on  it  seductively  until  he  went 
to  bed,  as  though  there  were  no  such  things  as 
business  troubles.  But  somehow  the  very  mild 
ness  of  his  mood,  gratifying  as  it  was  to  her  from 
the  momentary  personal  standpoint,  disturbed  her. 
Was  this  good  nature  the  manly,  Christian  resig 
nation  of  the  victim  of  misfortune  putting  aside 
his  grief  until  the  morrow?  It  suggested  to  her 
rather  the  relaxation  of  a  baffled  soul  exchanging 
ambition  for  a  nepenthe  of  forgetfulness — a  fud 
dled  agitator's  paradise — and  her  heart  was  wrung 
with  dread. 


55 


THE  firm  of  Stuart  &  Robinson,  lumber  deal 
ers,  was  hopelessly  insolvent  and  did  not 
attempt  to  resume  business.  The  partners  sepa 
rated  with  sentiments  of  mutual  disdain.  To  the 
junior — the  dummy — the  failure  had  come  as  a 
cruel  surprise.  He  refused  to  regard  Emil's  con 
duct  as  reasonable  or  honorable,  despite  the  as 
surance  that  the  speculation  in  pork  had  been  for 
their  common  benefit,  and  that,  but  for  an  un 
toward  accident,  the  result  would  have  been  a 
fortune  for  the  firm.  On  the  other  hand,  Emil 
expressed  scorn  for  a  nature  so  pusillanimous  that 
it  saw  only  the  outcome  and  failed  utterly  to  appre 
ciate  the  brilliancy  of  his  undertaking.  As  Emil 
explained  to  his  wife,  the  decision  of  the  partners 
in  regard  to  the  future  was  typical  of  their  re 
spective  dispositions;  Robinson,  having  lost  his 
money,  was  soliciting  a  clerkship — a  return  to 
servitude ;  whereas  Emil  intended  to  strike  out  for 
himself  again. 

In  what  field  of  energy  were  his  talents  to  be 
exercised  next?  This  was  for  Emil  the  first  and 
most  important  consideration.  His  new  employ 
ment  must  be  of  a  kind  which  would  provide  him 
with  bread  and  butter  until  he  was  on  his  feet 
again,  but  would  not  deprive  him  of  scope  and 
independence.  It  must  be  something  which  would 
not  require  capital.  Yet  this  did  not  mean  that 

56 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

his  talent  for  speculation  was  to  be  neglected,  but 
merely  to  be  kept  in  abeyance  until  he  saw  just  the 
opportunity  to  use  to  advantage  the  three  thou 
sand  dollars  which  he  promptly  raised  by  a  second 
mortgage  on  his  wife's  house.  His  failure  had 
left  him  more  than  ever  confident  of  his  ability  to 
achieve  success  by  bold  and  comprehensive  meth 
ods.  But  in  the  meantime,  while  he  was  spinning 
the  web  of  fresh  enterprises  which  were  to  make 
him  prosperous,  he  must  support  his  family  some 
how. 

He  concluded  to  become  a  newspaper  reporter 
and  writer  of  articles  for  the  press.  This  would 
provide  an  immediate  income  and  would  not  inter 
fere  unduly  with  other  projects.  Besides  it  would 
enable  him  to  give  public  expression  to  some  of 
his  opinions,  which  would  be  an  aesthetic  satisfac 
tion.  He  also  engaged  desk-room  in  an  office 
shared  by  four  men  independent  of  one  another 
and  interchangeably  petty  lawyers,  traders  and 
dealers  in  mortgages  and  land.  On  the  glass  door 
one  read  "Real  Estate  and  Mortgages — Invest 
ments  —  Collections  —  Loans  —  Notary  Public." 
Below  were  the  names  of  the  occupants,  followed 
by  the  titles  of  several  wildcat  companies,  the 
dregs  of  oil  and  mining  ventures  in  the  neighbor 
hood  of  Benham,  of  which  one  of  them  was  the 
promoter  and  treasurer.  It  seemed  to  Emil  a 
location  where  he,  hampered  by  circumstances 
from  jostling  elbows  with  men  of  means,  might 
use  his  wits  profitably  until  he  could  see  his  way 
to  more  imposing  quarters.  Here  he  would  be  un 
observed  and  yet  not  wholly  out  of  touch  with 
what  was  going  on.  On  the  same  floor  of  the 

57 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

building,  which  was  a  hive  of  small  concerns,  there 
was  a  broker's  office  which  had  a  wire  to  Chicago 
and  knowing  correspondents  in  New  York.  That 
it  was  described  as  a  "bucket  shop"  by  more  pros 
perous  banking  firms  prejudiced  Emil  in  its  favor; 
he  ascribed  the  stigma  to  capitalistic  envy  and 
social  ostracism.  He  became  friendly  with  the 
proprietor,  discussed  with  him  the  merits  of  the 
wares  on  his  counter,  and  presently,  acting  on 
"tips"  obtained  from  this  source,  captured  on  sev 
eral  occasions  sums  ranging  from  ten  to  fifty  dol 
lars  by  the  purchase  of  ten  shares  of  stock  or  an 
equivalent  amount  of  grain,  requiring  an  advance 
on  his  own  part  of  not  more  than  three  per  cent. 
of  the  purchase  price — a  mere  bagatelle.  This  as 
a  beginning  was  satisfactory.  It  eked  out  his 
journalistic  income;  and  the  skill  with  which  he 
plied  the  process,  contrasted  with  the  folly  dis 
played  by  most  of  the  customers,  flattered  the  faith 
which  he  had  in  his  sound  judgment.  This 
broker's  shop  was  the  resort  of  scores  of  people 
of  small  means,  trades-folk,  clerks,  salaried  de 
pendents  and  some  women,  keen  to  acquire  from 
the  fluctuations  of  the  speculative  markets  a  few 
crumbs  of  the  huge  gains  garnered  by  the  mag 
nates  of  Wall  Street,  of  which  they  read  emulously 
in  the  newspapers.  To  put  up  one's  thirty  dol 
lars,  and  to  have  one's  margin  of  venture  or  profit 
wiped  out  within  twenty-four  hours,  was  the  nor 
mal  experience,  sooner  or  later,  of  ninety  per  cent, 
of  these  unfortunates.  The  remainder  were 
shrewder  and  longer  lived,  and  to  this  remnant 
Emil  indisputably  belonged. 

He  obtained  a  position  on  the  Star,   a  sensa- 

58 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

tional,  popular  one-cent  paper.  The  Star  was  read 
both  by  the  workingmen  in  the  manufacturing 
plants,  of  whose  interests  it  was  a  zealous  cham 
pion,  and  by  a  large  class  of  business  men  and 
trades-people,  who  found  its  crisp  paragraphs  and 
exaggerated,  inaccurate  reports  of  current  horrors 
and  scandals  an  agreeable  form  of  excitement. 
Emil's  employment  was  to  make  the  round  of  the 
dealers  in  grain,  lumber,  wool  and  other  staples 
and  report  trade  prices  and  gossip,  which  under 
the  control  of  the  financial  editor  he  was  allowed 
to  expand  into  commercial  prognostications  or 
advice.  To  the  Sunday  edition  he  began  to  con 
tribute  special  articles  exploiting  the  grievances  of 
the  proletariat,  which  the  management  of  the  Star 
accepted  and  presently  invited  as  a  weekly  feature. 
They  were  written  with  a  sardonic  acerbity  of 
touch,  which  afforded  him  an  outlet  for  his  dis 
gruntled  frame  of  mind  and  free  scope  for  his 
favorite  theories.  He  also  renewed  his  attend 
ance  at  the  Socialistic  Club  which  he  had  fre- 
quented  before  his  marriage,  and  became  one  of 
the  orators  there.  It  occurred  to  him  that  a  polit 
ical  office  would  be  acceptable  while  he  was  hus 
banding  his  resources.  Why  not  become  alderman 
on  the  workingman's  ticket?  There  was  a  salary 
of  five  hundred  dollars  attached,  and  as  a  city 
father  he  would  have  opportunities  to  know  what 
was  going  on  in  municipal  affairs,  and  to  get  an 
inkling  of  some  of  the  big  schemes  projected  by 
capitalists,  for  the  furtherance  of  which  his  vote 
would  be  required.  He  would  be  able  also — and 
this  was  an  exhilarating  consideration — to  hold 
the  whip-hand  over  the  arrogant  moneyed  men 

59 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

seeking  franchises  for  next  to  nothing,  by  which  to 
extort  millions  from  the  guileless  common  people. 
While  Emil,  with  recovered  buoyancy,  read 
justed  his  plans  to  meet  his  circumstances  and  set 
his  wits  to  work,  his  wife  met  the  necessity  of 
strict  economy  with  absorbed  devotion.  She 
signed  the  mortgage  with  a  pang,  but  without 
hesitancy.  She  appreciated  the  necessity  of  the 
contribution.  Without  ready  money  Emil  would 
be  powerless — must  become  a  mere  clerk  or  sub 
ordinate,  and  his  ambition  would  be  crushed.  She 
would  have  preferred  perhaps  that  he  should  re 
sign  himself  to  the  situation,  and  without  imperil 
ling  their  home,  support  his  family  on  a  modest 
footing  by  a  salary  or  by  the  journalistic  work 
for  which  he  had  an  aptitude.  But  she  recognized 
that  his  heart  was  set  on  independent  success  on  a 
large  scale,  and  that  Emil  thwarted  or  repressed 
would  become  an  irritable  and  despondent  malcon 
tent.  His  shrewdness  had  nearly  gained  him  a 
fortune,  and  apparently  a  cruel  freak  of  chance 
had  been  solely  responsible  for  his  discomfiture. 
She  did  not  pretend  to  criticise  the  nature  of  his 
business  dealings.  He  had  explained  to  her  that 
capital  was  indispensable  to  the  realization  of  his 
aims.  She  must  trust  him.  She  did  suggest  that 
he  should  use  the  proceeds  of  the  mortgage  for 
the  payment  of  his  debts.  The  thought  of  doing 
so  was  bitter,  and  she  was  thankful  when  Emil 
assured  her  with  a  protesting  scoff  that  such  a  pro 
ceeding  would  be  Utopian.  "What,"  he  asked, 
"was  the  sense  of  insolvent  laws,  if,  when  a  man 
failed  in  business,  his  wife  was  to  cast  her  little 
all,  her  own  patrimony,  into  the  common  pot  for 

60 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

the  enrichment  of  his  creditors?  Business  people 
understood  that  they  were  taking  business  chances, 
and  did  not  expect  to  gobble  up  the  home  of  a 
wife  bought  with  her  own  genuine  means.  If  she 
were  rich,  generosity  might  be  honesty,  but  in  the 
present  instance,  it  would  be  sentimental  folly." 
This  was  convincing  to  Constance,  for  she  felt 
instinctively  that  her  children  must  have  rights  as 
well  as  the  creditors.  A  woman's  whimsical  con 
ception  of  business  honor  might  well  be  at  fault. 
She  had  made  her  offer,  and  she  was  glad  to  abide 
by  her  husband's  superior  knowledge. 

Her  duty  obviously  was  to  reduce  the  scale  of 
family  living  without  interfering  with  Emil's  rea 
sonable  comfort  or  wounding  his  self-respect.  She 
gave  herself  up  to  her  work  of  domestic  economy 
with  fresh  zeal,  doing  the  manual  labor  of  the 
household  with  enthusiasm.  By  steady  industry 
and  thoughtful  care,  she  was  able  not  only  to 
minimize  expenses,  but  to  produce  presentable  re 
sults  from  a  small  outlay.  Her  heart  was  in  it; 
for  was  not  Emil  at  work  again  and  hopeful?  She 
was  proud  of  his  newspaper  articles,  and  regarded 
his  small  gains  from  shrewd  speculations  as  new 
proof  of  his  capacity  for  financial  undertakings. 

The  end  of  a  year  found  Emil  rather  more  than 
holding  his  own  pecuniarily.  He  had  obtained 
commissions  as  a  broker  from  the  successful  ne 
gotiation  of  a  few  small  real-estate  transactions, 
his  ventures  on  a  cautious  scale  in  the  stock  market 
had  been  almost  invariably  fortunate,  and  his 
earnings  as  a  newspaper  writer  had  been  sufficient 
with  these  accretions  to  cover  his  household  ex 
penses,  pay  the  interest  on  the  mortgage,  and  add 

61 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

slightly  to  his  capital.  He  felt  that  he  was  on  his 
feet  again,  and  was  correspondingly  bumptious; 
yet  he  realized  that  his  recuperation  regarded  as 
progress  was  a  snail's  pace,  which  must  be  greatly 
accelerated  if  he  would  attain  wealth  and  im 
portance.  In  this  connection  the  idea  of  becom 
ing  an  alderman  kept  recurring  to  him  with  in 
creasing  attraction.  At  present  he  was  nobody. 
His  name  was  unfamiliar  and  his  position  obscure. 
This  irritated  him,  for  he  craved  recognition  and 
publicity.  To  be  sure,  while  capital  was  at  his 
disposal,  he  had  seen  fit  to  address  his  efforts 
solely  to  the  accumulation  of  a  fortune  as  the  pass 
port  to  power,  but  even  then  he  had  been  at  heart 
a  sworn  enemy  of  the  moneyed  class.  And  now 
that  he  had  resumed  his  old  associations,  his  the 
ories  had  developed  fresh  vitality  and  aroused  in 
him  the  desire  to  vindicate  them  by  action.  Since 
fate  had  condemned  him  to  attain  financial  prom 
inence  slowly,  why  should  he  not  secure  recog 
nition  in  the  best  way  he  could?  As  an  alderman 
he  would  be  a  local  power,  and  once  in  the  arena 
of  politics  and  given  the  opportunity  to  make  him 
self  felt,  why  might  he  not  aspire  to  political 
prosperity? 

He  proceeded  to  seek  the  nomination.  But  he 
found  that  there  were  other  aspirants,  and  that  he 
must  be  stirring.  In  Benham  the  district  system 
of  election  was  in  vogue.  That  is,  the  city  was 
divided  into  municipal  districts,  and  each  district 
chose  its  own  alderman.  In  that  where  Emil  lived 
the  workingman's  candidate,  so  called,  was  almost 
invariably  successful  against  the  representative  of 
the  more  conservative  element  of  the  two  wards 

62 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

concerned,  and  a  nomination  was  regarded  as 
equivalent  to  election.  Now  there  were  two  fac 
tions  of  voters  belonging  to  the  dominant  party 
in  the  district,  one  in  each  ward,  and  for  three 
successive  years  the  alderman  had  come  from  the 
ward  other  than  that  in  which  Emil  dwelt.  This 
was  a  plausible  argument  why  the  next  candidate 
should  be  selected  from  his  ward.  The  faction 
which  Emil  hoped  to  represent  contained  a  con 
siderable  number  of  Germans  with  socialistic 
affiliations,  and  it  was  agreed  by  a  conference  of 
the  rival  cliques  on  the  eve  of  the  canvass  that 
their  turn  had  come  to  nominate  a  candidate. 
This  was  fortunate  for  Emil,  as  some  of  the  mem 
bers  of  the  social  debating  club  to  which  he  be 
longed  w^ere  of  this  body.  He  had  already  been 
prominent  at  the  meetings  of  the  club,  prompt  and 
aggressive  in  the  expression  of  his  opinions  on  his 
feet,  and  prone  to  linger  over  his  beer  until  late 
at  night  agitating  the  grievances  of  the  under  dogs 
of  industrial  competition.  The  suggestion  of  his 
name,  backed  by  a  vote  of  his  associates,  received 
respectful  consideration  from  the  political  man 
agers,  and  he  at  once  became  a  prominent  candi 
date.  The  last  three  aldermen  from  the  district 
had  been  of  Irish  extraction,  and  he  was  an  Amer 
ican.  His  grandfather  on  his  mother's  side  had 
been  a  German;  hence  his  name  Emil.  He  was 
an  undoubted  advocate  of  the  rights  of  the  labor 
ing  class,  and  a  foe  of  capitalistic  jobbing.  These 
were  signal  points  in  his  favor.  But  the  victory 
would  remain  to  the  aspirant  who  could  obtain  a 
majority  of  the  delegates  to  the  aldermanic  con 
vention,  and  the  battle  would  be  fought  out  at  the 

63 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

preliminary  caucus  where  the  delegates  were 
chosen  by  the  voters  of  the  two  wards.  Accord 
ingly  the  contest  became  a  house-to-house  canvass 
of  the  district  by  the  respective  candidates,  each  of 
whom  had  an  organization  and  lieutenants.  There 
was  speech-making  at  halls  hired  for  the  occasion, 
and  some  treating  incident  to  these  rallies.  Poster 
pictures  of  the  candidates  were  requisite  for  use 
in  saloons  and  on  bill-boards.  All  this  demanded 
expenditure.  Emil  realized  presently  that,  if  he 
wished  to  succeed,  he  could  not  be  niggardly  with 
his  money.  Men  would  not  work  for  nothing, 
and  spontaneous  enthusiasm  was  only  to  be  had  for 
remuneration.  He  drew  upon  his  funds,  exhaust 
ing  the  little  he  had  saved  the  previous  year,  and 
trenching  slightly  on  the  mortgage  money.  He 
hoped  to  win.  The  contest  practically  was  be 
tween  him  and  a  German  beer  manufacturer,  who 
happened  also  to  be  the  president  of  a  small  bank. 
The  third  candidate  was  already  out  of  the  run 
ning.  Emil  in  his  capacity  as  tribune  of  the  peo 
ple  made  the  most  of  his  opponent's  connection 
with  the  moneyed  interests.  His  satire  on  this 
score  offset  the  advantage  which  his  rival  received 
from  his  trade  as  a  brewer,  and  turned  the  scale. 
On  the  night  of  the  caucus,  the  voting  booths  were 
crowded  to  repletion.  A  stream  of  excited  cit 
izens  struggled  to  the  rail  to  deposit  their  ballots. 
There  was  imprecation  and  several  resorts  to 
fisticuffs.  Not  until  after  midnight  was  the  result 
known.  Emil  won  by  a  liberal  margin  in  both 
wards,  and  his  nomination  was  assured.  He  was 
escorted  home  jubilant  and  beery  by  a  detachment 
of  his  followers,  whose  cat-calls  of  triumph  thrilled 

64 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

the  listening  ears  of  Constance.  She  met  him  at 
the  door,  and  when  he  was  safely  inside  she  threw 
her  arms  about  his  neck  and  exclaimed,  "Oh,  Emil, 
I'm  so  glad!" 

His  small  dark  eyes  were  scintillating,  his  hair 
stood  up  from  his  brow  like  a  bird's  crest,  the  curl 
of  his  short  mustache,  odorous  of  malt,  bristled 
awry,  his  speech  was  thick. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  they  couldn't  keep  me  down? 
I  shall  get  now  where  I  belong,"  he  exclaimed  as 
he  strode  into  the  sitting-room  and  dropped  into 
a  chair  with  the  air  of  a  fuddled  but  victorious 
field-marshal. 

Constance  recognized  that  he  was  exhilarated 
by  drink.  The  associations  of  the  last  few  weeks 
had  awakened  in  her  vague  doubts  as  to  the  sort 
of  influence  which  the  career  of  an  alderman  was 
likely  to  exercise  upon  him.  But  she  shrank  from 
harboring  criticism.  She  yearned  to  be  happy,  and 
her  happiness  was  to  see  her  husband  successful 
and  prosperous.  So  she  put  away  the  conscious 
ness  that  his  breath  was  tainted,  his  manner  boast 
ful  and  jarring,  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  joy 
which  sprang  from  beholding  him  a  self-satisfied 
victor. 

Emil's  self-satisfaction  was  short  lived.  It 
chanced  that  some  of  the  wealthy  citizens  of  Ben- 
ham  were  interested  in  the  establishment  of  an 
electric  street-car  system  for  the  city  and  its  sub 
urbs,  and  were  laying  their  wires  to  secure  the 
co-operation  of  the  Board  of  Aldermen.  The 
project  had  been  kept  concealed,  and  not  until  the 
campaign  for  the  city  election  was  well  under  way 
were  the  machinations  of  those  interested  appar- 

65 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ent.  First  as  an  underground  rumor,  then  as  a 
well-credited  report  from  diverse  sources,  the  news 
reached  Emil  that  the  nominee  of  the  other  party 
had  the  backing  of  a  powerful  syndicate.  The 
true  explanation  of  this  mystery  followed,  and 
with  it  the  statement  that  Emil's  radical  utterances 
had  drawn  upon  his  head  the  ire  of  the  capitalists 
with  a  mission,  who  were  giving  their  moral  and 
financial  support  in  every  district  to  the  one  of  the 
two  candidates  best  suited  to  their  necessities  re 
gardless  of  party.  In  place  of  the  walk-over  he 
had  expected,  Emil  found  himself  in  the  midst  of 
a  contest  of  the  fiercest  description.  He  was 
furious,  and  his  exultation  was  turned  to  gall. 
Why  had  he  not  discovered  the  street-car  company 
projects  in  advance  and  made  friends  with  the 
promoters?  This  was  his  first  and  secret  reflec 
tion,  which  added  rancor  to  his  public  declaration 
that  he  would  bury  at  the  polls  the  candidate  of 
these  plunderers.  But  how?  Where  were  his 
funds  to  come  from?  There  had  been  plenty  of 
offers  of  ready  money  when  it  was  supposed  that 
his  election  was  assured.  But  now  the  tone  of  his 
supporters  was  less  confident,  and  ugly  rumors 
reached  him  of  defections  among  the  Irish  in  the 
other  ward.  He  was  in  the  fight  to  stay.  So  he 
declared  on  the  stump  and  in  his  home.  He  could 
not  afford  to  be  defeated.  It  was  a  case  of  hit  or 
miss,  win  or  lose.  Maddened,  desperate,  and  ex 
cited,  he  threw  prudence  to  the  winds  and  scat 
tered  dollars  freely  for  proselytizing  expenses 
until  the  morning  of  the  election.  Each  side 
claimed  the  victory  until  the  polls  were  closed. 
The  result  was  close — a  matter  of  one  hundred  and 

66 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

fifty  ballots — but  Emil  proved  to  be  the  loser,  and 
at  a  cost  of  over  three  thousand  dollars.  The 
fund  which  he  had  borrowed  from  his  wife  was 
exhausted,  and  he  had  incurred,  besides,  a  batch 
of  unpaid  bills  for  refreshments,  carriages,  and 
other  incidental  expenses. 

He  awoke  at  dawn  from  a  nap  at  a  table  in  a 
saloon  from  which  the  last  of  his  followers  had 
slipped  away.  Slouching  into  his  kitchen,  where 
his  wife  was  kindling  the  fire,  he  tossed  his  hat  on 
the  table  and  said  with  a  malignant  sneer: 

"The  jig's  up." 

Constance  was  pale.  She  had  been  watching 
for  him  all  night,  and  had  heard  from  a  neighbor 
the  dismal  result.  Her  heart  was  wrung  with  pity 
and  distress,  but  she  perceived  that  it  was  no  time 
for  consolatory  words.  She  busied  herself  in  pre 
paring  a  cup  of  coffee,  which  presently  she  placed 
before  him,  stooping  as  she  did  so  to  kiss  him 
softly  on  the  forehead.  He  was  sitting  by  the 
table  with  his  legs  thrust  out  and  his  hands  sunk 
in  his  trousers  pockets,  chewing  an  unlighted  cigar, 
one  of  those  left  from  the  supply  he  had  bought 
for  political  hospitality.  His  wife's  action  seemed 
to  remind  him  of  her  presence.  He  looked  up  at 
her  viciously,  showing  the  white  of  his  eye  like  a 
surly  dog. 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"Your  coffee,  Emil." 

He  glared  at  the  smoking  cup,  then  with  a 
sweep  of  his  arm  dashed  it  away: 

"To  hell  with  you  and  your  messes,  you — you 
fool!" 

The   crash   of  the   crockery  was    followed  by 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

silence.  It  seemed  to  Constance  that  she  had  been 
struck  by  a  bullet,  so  confounding  were  his  words. 
Her  husband  address  her  like  that?  What  did  it 
mean? 

"Emil,"  she  gasped— "you  are  ill!" 

"Not  ill,  but  tired  of  you." 

"Of  me?     Your  wife?     What  have  I  done?" 

"Why  didn't  you  consent  to  move  to  New  York 
when  I  wished  to  go?"  he  snapped.  "If  you  had, 
I  wouldn't  be  in  this  fix,  sold  out  by  a  pack  of 
filthy  Hibernian  cut-throats." 

"I  was  ready  to  go  if  you  wished  it,  Emil.  We 
will  go  now — if  only  you  do  not  speak  to  me  so 
unkindly." 

"It's  too  late,"  he  replied  with  a  sneer.  "What 
use  would  it  be,  anyway?  We  look  at  everything 
differently.  We  always  have." 

"You  do  not  realize  what  you  are  saying.  You 
do  not  know  what  you  are  saying." 

"Crazy,  am  I?  The  best  thing  for  you  to  do 
is  to  ask  some  of  your  church  philanthropists  to 
supply  you  with  laundry  work.  You're  likely  to 
need  it.  The  jig's  up,  I  tell  you.  We  haven't  a 
dollar  left." 

"Very  well." 

"The  mortgage  money  with  the  rest."  He 
threw  the  chewed  cigar  on  the  floor  and  ground  it 
with  his  foot. 

"Very  well.  I  can  bear  anything  except  that 
you  should  speak  to  me  so  cruelly.  Have  I 
been  afraid  of  work?  Whatever  has  happened 
we  mustn't  forget  the  children,  Emil.  We 
must  keep  up  our  courage  on  their  account  at 
least." 

68 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

He  scowled  at  the  reference.  "I'll  look  out  for 
the  children.  Is  there  any  beer  in  the  house?" 

"No."  Then  after  a  moment's  hesitation  she 
added,  "May  I  ask  yo,u  something,  Emil?  Won't 
you  give  up  beer?  It  is  hurting  your  life.  I  am 
sure  of  it.  I  have  felt  so  for  some  time,  and  you 
have  known  that  I  have  hated  your  fondness  for 
it.  Give  it  up  altogether  and — and  we  will  go  to 
New  York  or  anywhere  you  wish  and  make  a  fresh 


start." 


In  her  dismay  at  his  brutality  she  was  eager  and 
thankful  to  throw  the  responsibility  for  his  con 
duct  on  his  propensity  for  drink.  She  felt  the 
obligation  to  speak  fearlessly  on  this  score,  even 
though  she  irritated  him.  Her  gentle  remon 
strances  had  been  of  no  avail,  and  she  must  strug 
gle  with  him  now  against  himself  or  lose  him 
altogether. 

Emil  heard  her  appeal  with  a  deepening  scowl. 
For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  though  he  were  about 
to  strike  her.  Then,  as  what  he  evidently  consid 
ered  the  audacity  of  her  expostulation  worked  on 
his  mind,  self-pity  was  mingled  with  his  anger. 

"You'd  deprive  me  of  my  beer,  would  you? 
The  only  solace  I've  got.  Why  don't  you  go 
smash  my  fiddle,  too?  That's  the  way  with  you 
pious  women;  a  man  gets  down  on  his  luck  and 
you  stop  his  comforts  and  drive  him  into  the 
street.  Very  well,  then,  if  I  can't  get  beer  in  this 
house,  little  saint,  there's  lots  of  places  I  can.  This 
is  the  last  straw."  Thereupon  he  strode  out  of  the 
house,  closing  the  kitchen  door  behind  him  with  a 
vicious  bang. 


VI 


ONSTANCE  did  not  see  her  husband  again 
for  twenty-four  hours.  He  returned  at 
supper-time  and  took  his  place  at  the  table  with 
out  a  word  of  apology  or  explanation.  He  was 
in  a  state  of  great  depression,  morose  and  uncom 
municative.  On  previous  occasions  when  misfor 
tune  had  befallen  him,  he  had  taken  his  wife  into 
his  confidence,  but  now  it  seemed  either  that  he 
had  lost  his  grip  on  life  so  completely  that  words 
failed  him,  or  that  the  resentment  which  he  had 
expressed  toward  her  was  still  dominant.  When 
the  meal  was  over,  he  went  out  and  did  not  return 
until  late.  He  was  boozy  with  drink,  and  threw 
himself  on  his  bed  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
would  fain  dispel  consciousness  by  the  luxury  of 
sleep. 

Emil's  mode  of  life  for  the  next  few  weeks 
was  substantially  a  repetition  of  this  programme. 
Glum,  sour,  and  listless  he  went  his  way  in  the 
morning;  fuddled,  indifferent,  and  sleepy  he  re 
turned  at  night.  Concerning  his  circumstances 
and  plans  he  said  nothing  to  Constance.  She  was 
left  totally  in  the  dark  as  to  the  extent  and  the 
effect  of  his  reverses.  He  had  told  her  that  they 
were  ruined,  yet  he  continued  to  go  down-town  as 
though  nothing  had  happened.  Trusting  that  he 
would  enlighten  her  of  his  own  accord,  at  first  she 
asked  no  questions.  Then  as  he  did  not  speak, 

70 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

she  requested  him  one  morning  to  tell  her  how  his 
affairs  stood,  urging  her  solicitude  and  affection. 
He  listened  frowningly  and  put  her  off  with  the 
disconcerting  utterance  "You'll  know  soon  enough. 
It's  just  as  well  to  let  a  drowning  man  grasp  at 
straws  while  there  are  any  to  grasp  at." 

His  half-scornful,  half-desperate  manner  for 
bade  further  inquiry  at  the  moment  if  she  did  not 
wish  to  widen  the  breach  between  them.  Con 
stance  was  in  deep  distress.  She  yearned  to  com 
fort  and  help  him,  but  this  wifely,  loving  impulse 
was  haunted  by  the  consciousness  now  forced  upon 
her  with  painful  clearness  that  she  had  misjudged 
his  nature  and  was  mated  to  a  crank.  How  other 
wise  could  she  interpret  his  hostile  attitude  toward 
herself?  To  what  but  a  cross-grained  perversity 
of  soul  could  she  ascribe  his  disposition  to  blame 
her  for  his  misfortunes?  Her  duty  was  plain,  to 
make  the  best  of  the  situation,  and  to  ignore,  so 
far  as  self-respect  would  permit,  his  laceration  of 
her  feelings,  trusting  to  time  to  restore  his  sense 
of  justice  and  renew  concord  between  them.  But 
what  hope  was  there  for  the  future?  Hope  for 
the  realization  of  that  blissful,  ennobling  married 
state  to  which  she  had  looked  forward  as  a  bride 
and  had  believed  in  store  for  her?  Here  was  the 
thought  which  tormented  her  and  gave  poignancy 
to  the  dismay  and  anxiety  of  the  moment.  Even 
if  their  immediate  circumstances  were  less  serious 
than  Emil  had  declared,  was  there  any  reason  to 
believe  that  his  next  experiment  would  be  more 
successful?  She  had  accepted  hitherto  without 
question  his  declaration  that  ill-luck  had  been  re 
sponsible  for  all  his  troubles,  but  that  consolation 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

was  hers  no  longer.  She  found  herself  listening  to 
the  voice  of  criticism  to  which  until  now  she  had 
turned  a  deaf  ear.  In  a  new  spirit,  without  bit 
terness,  but  in  the  assertion  of  her  right  as  a  wife 
to  judge  the  man  to  whom  she  had  committed  her 
happiness,  she  recalled  the  incidents  of  their  mar 
ried  life — his  theories,  arguments,  and  point  of 
view.  He  had  declared  her  to  blame  for  his  mis 
fortunes.  Surely  if  she  had  failed  in  her  duty  it 
had  not  been  toward  him.  She  had  sacrificed  her 
opinions  to  his,  and  for  his  sake  abnegated  her 
most  precious  predilections  in  order  to  make  the 
union  of  their  lives  sweeter  and  more  complete.  If 
she  were  guilty,  was  it  not  of  treason  to  her  own 
instincts  and  her  own  conscience? 

Emil  indeed  had  persuaded  himself  not  merely 
that  fortune  had  betrayed  him,  and  the  hand  of 
the  prosperous  world  was  against  him,  but  that 
his  wife  was  partly  to  blame  for  it.  Looking  back 
on  his  last  fiasco,  he  conjured  up  the  circumstance 
that  she  had  not  fallen  in  with  his  suggestion  of 
an  exodus  to  New  York,  and  this  he  had  promptly 
distorted  into  a  grievance,  which  grew  the  more 
he  nursed  it.  To  the  notion  that  she  had  thwarted 
him  in  everything  and  that  their  relations  as  hus 
band  and  wife  had  been  wholly  unsympathetic 
was  only  another  step.  It  suited  him  to  feel  that 
he  was  the  injured  party,  for  he  was  face  to  face 
with  the  responsibility  of  supporting  his  family, 
which  must  be  met  or  avoided.  The  question  of 
immediate  funds  was  already  pressing.  His  last 
reverse  had  discouraged  and  angered  him,  but  it 
had  not  diminished  his  confidence  that  he  would 
succeed  in  the  right  place.  It  had  only  convinced 

72 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

him  that  Benham  was  not  the  right  place;  that 
Benham  was  too  small  and  provincial;  too  unap- 
preciative  of  real  ability.  He  was  unpleasantly 
in  debt,  but  the  bills  which  he  had  contracted  for 
political  expenses  could  be  disregarded  for  the 
present.  He  had  no  property  with  which  to  meet 
them,  and  if  he  were  pressed,  he  had  merely  to  go 
into  insolvency  in  order  to  rid  himself  of  them 
altogether.  Nor  need  he  worry  about  the  mort 
gage  for  the  present.  It  would  not  be  due  for 
two  years,  and,  provided  the  interest  were  paid, 
they  could  not  be  molested.  These  redeeming 
features  of  his  plight  were  clear  to  him  after  the 
first  days  of  mental  agitation,  but  his  spirit  did 
not  reassert  its  wonted  elasticity.  Analyzing  the 
cause,  he  perceived  that  his  whole  surroundings 
were  repugnant  to  him,  and  that  he  shrank  from 
recommencing  life  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder  under 
the  conditions  in  which  he  found  himself.  He 
was  determined  to  leave  Benham,  and  he  was  de 
termined  that  his  family,  if  they  came  with  him, 
should  toe  the  mark.  What  this  phrase  meant 
precisely  he  did  not  formulate,  but  it  suited  his 
mood.  "Toe  the  mark."  He  kept  repeating  it 
to  himself,  as  though  it  promised  relief  from  do 
mestic  insubordination.  Yes,  if  his  wife  did  not 
choose  to  adopt  his  theories  and  abet  him  in  his 
undertakings,  she  could  go  her  own  way  for  all 
he  cared.  It  was  only  on  account  of  the  children 
that  he  did  not  put  an  end  to  their  contract  of  mar 
riage  to-morrow  by  leaving  her.  Except  for  them 
it  were  surely  folly  for  a  man  and  woman  whose 
ideas  were  utterly  at  variance  to  continue  a  part 
nership  the  only  fruit  of  which  could  be  discord 

73 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

and  recriminations.  So  he  argued,  and  it  was  only 
the  thought  of  his  children  which  restrained  him 
from  precipitate  action  and  caused  him  to  con 
tinue  to  go  down-town  every  day  seeking  a  bare 
livelihood.  Since  the  night  of  his  defeat  at  the 
polls,  Constance  had  not  asked  him  for  money. 
Presumably  she  had  some  laid  by,  and  was  living 
on  that,  but  by  the  first  of  the  month  she  must 
have  recourse  to  him  or  starve,  and  then  would  be 
the  time  for  his  ultimatum.  The  terms  of  this, 
beyond  a  declaration  of  general  discontent,  were 
still  hazy  in  his  brain,  befogged  by  malt  liquor 
and  inflamed  by  hatred  of  the  world,  but  a  glow 
ing  conviction  that  their  marriage  had  been  a  fail 
ure  through  her  fault  was  a  satisfactory  substitute 
for  definiteness.  Brooding  like  a  spider  in  its  web, 
secretive,  hoping  that  something  would  turn  up  to 
put  him  on  his  feet  again,  yet  almost  reckless  in 
his  attitude,  and  drinking  assiduously,  he  drifted 
on  without  aim.  His  evenings  were  spent  at  his 
workingmen's  club,  where  he  continued  as  an  out 
let  to  his  feelings  to  deliver  virulent  philippics, 
which  he  realized  as  he  uttered  them  were  a  sorry 
equivalent  for  personal  success. 

While  thus  limp  and  embittered,  a  final  mishap 
impelled  Emil  to  action.  It  happened  that  the 
broker  on  the  same  floor  as  the  office  where  he 
had  desk-room,  and  with  whom  he  was  on  familiar 
terms,  let  him  in  for  a  disastrous  tip  and  put  the 
screws  on  when  the  market  went  the  other  way. 
The  sum  involved  was  three  hundred  dollars,  the 
total  residue  of  Emil's  capital,  which  he  had 
allowed  to  remain  untouched  with  this  false  friend 
in  order  not  to  be  entirely  without  the  means  to 

74 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

speculate.  The  advice  offered  had  seemed  to  be 
friendly  and  disinterested.  When  the  result  proved 
disastrous  the  victim  promptly  suspected  guile. 
Certainly  he  encountered  a  flinty  demeanor,  as 
though  the  proprietor  of  the  "bucket-shop"  were 
cognizant  of  the  impecuniosity  of  his  customer 
and  had  decided  to  squeeze  him  dry  and  break 
with  him.  This  from  the  man  whose  social  status 
on  the  street  he  had  championed  seemed  to  Emil 
rank  ingratitude.  Yet  the  broker  was  making  no 
more  than  ordinary  business  demands  upon  him. 
His  margin  was  exhausted,  and  the  transaction 
would  be  closed  unless  he  supplied  additional  se 
curity.  This  was  business-like,  but  not  friendly,  as 
it  seemed  to  Emil,  especially  as  the  ingrate,  who 
had  been  so  confident  of  the  value  of  the  tip,  chose 
now  to  be  sphinx-like  as  to  what  the  next  day's 
price  of  the  stock  would  be.  All  he  would  vouch 
safe  was  that  it  would  go  up  sooner  or  later. 

Since  it  was  necessary  to  act  at  once,  and  to  sell 
meant  the  loss  of  the  remnant  of  his  capital,  Emil 
concluded  to  give  himself  a  chance  by  making  use 
of  five  hundred  dollars  which  had  just  been  paid 
over  to  him  for  a  client  in  redemption  of  a  mort 
gage.  He  argued  that  the  stock,  having  fallen  in 
price  contrary  to  expectation,  was  not  likely  to 
decline  further  at  once,  and  that  if  he  protected 
his  account,  he  would  be  able  to  make  inquiries 
and  form  a  more  intelligent  opinion  by  the  end 
of  a  few  days  as  to  what  he  had  best  do.  Besides, 
there  was  lurking  in  his  mind  the  bitter  argument, 
which  he  chose  to  believe  sound,  that  the  world 
owed  every  man  a  living,  and  assuredly  owed  it 
to  a  man  like  himself.  Since  the  hand  of  society 

75 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

seemed  to  be  against  him,  why  should  he  not  take 
advantage  of  the  resources  at  his  disposal  and  save 
himself?  He  was  simply  borrowing;  if  he  were 
not  able  to  return  the  money  at  once,  he  would  do 
so  later  with  interest.  The  consequences  of  this 
performance  were  disastrous.  As  Emil  had  pre 
dicted,  the  stock  in  question  remained  stationary 
for  three  days,  but  by  the  end  of  them  he  felt  no 
clearer  regarding  which  course  to  pursue.  Esti 
mates  as  to  its  value  were  contradictory;  yet  since 
a  sale  at  the  market  price  meant  the  safety  of  the 
five  hundred  dollars  at  the  cost  of  his  own  financial 
obliteration,  he  remained  hopeful.  On  the  fourth 
day  the  stock  broke  sharply,  and  again  on  the  day 
after.  His  holding  was  only  one  hundred  shares 
— a  paltry  transaction  from  a  capitalistic  point  of 
view — yet  it  was  rashness  for  him.  Adversity 
and  his  pressing  needs  had  tempted  him  to  disre 
gard  his  meditated  prudence  and  to  venture  on 
thin  ice.  He  perceived  himself  ruined  and  a  de 
faulter.  The  obliquity  of  his  peculation  was 
mitigated  in  his  mind  by  the  conviction  that  for 
tune  had  been  signally  cruel  to  him.  As  for  the 
borrowed  money,  he  would  give  his  note  and  pay 
it  presently  when  he  was  on  his  feet  again.  Yet 
he  appreciated  that  his  opportunities  for  making 
a  living  in  Benham  were  at  an  end,  and  that  if  he 
remained,  he  might  find  difficulty  in  inducing  the 
owner  of  the  five  hundred  dollars  to  accept  him 
as  a  creditor  without  demur.  Clearly  the  simplest 
course  was  to  come  to  terms  by  post.  To  shake 
the  dust  of  Benham  from  his  feet  was  his  dearest 
wish,  and  the  time  had  arrived  for  its  fulfilment. 
There  was  still  one  hundred  dollars  belonging  to 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

his  client  in  his  hands  which  he  had  not  used. 
This  he  drew  to  provide  himself  with  travelling 
expenses,  arguing  that  the  sooner  he  were  able  to 
reach  New  York,  the  quicker  the  loan  would  be 
repaid,  and  slipped  from  the  city  without  a  word 
to  anyone.  He  had  decided  to  cut  adrift  from  all 
his  past  associations,  and  an  indispensable  portion 
of  his  plan  was  to  sever  forever  his  relations  with 
his  wife. 

A  week  later  he  wrote  this  letter  to  her  from 
New  York: 

CONSTANCE  : 

This  is  to  let  you  know  what  has  become  of  me.  You  may- 
have  guessed  the  truth,  but  it's  woman's  way  to  worry,  weep, 
and  raise  a  hue  and  cry,  though  she  knows  in  her  heart  that  she's 
mismated,  and  that  it  would  be  a  godsend  to  her  if  "hubby  " 
had  really  blown  his  brains  out  or  were  safely  at  the  bottom  of 
a  well.  I'm  not  dead  yet,  nor  am  I  contemplating  suicide  at 
present.  Though  if  the  time  ever  does  come  when  I  think  the 
game  is  played  out,  it  will  be  one-two-three-go!  without  any 
pause  between  the  numbers.  But  I'm  as  good  as  dead  now,  so 
far  as  you  are  concerned.  You  won't  be  troubled  by  me  further. 
You've  seen  the  last  of  me.  I  told  you  I  was  strapped.  I'm 
cleaned  out  to  the  last  dollar.  But  that  doesn't  phaze  me  except 
for  the  moment.  I'm  going  to  make  a  fresh  start  and  a  clean 
sweep  at  the  same  time.  You  know  as  well  as  I  that  our  mar 
riage  has  not  been  a  glittering  success.  In  short,  we've  made  a 
mess  of  it.  We  thought  we  were  suited  to  each  other,  and  we 
find  we're  not.  That's  all.  I  don't  approve  of  you  any  more 
than  you  do  of  me,  and  what's  the  use  of  making  each  other 
miserable  by  protracting  the  relation  until  death  do  us  part?  It's 
up  to  me  to  undo  the  Gordian-knot,  and  I've  cut  it. 

You'll  shed  some  tears,  I  suppose,  over  the  situation,  and 
your  friends  will  call  me  a  brute.  But  when  the  shock  is  past 
and  sentimental  considerations  have  evaporated,  just  ask  yourself 
if  I'm  not  doing  the  sensible  thing  for  us  both.  We  don't  look 
at  life  in  the  same  way  and  never  will.  I'm  a  radical,  and 
you're  a  conservative,  and  we  were  misled  before  marriage  by 

77 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

the  affinities  of  flesh  to  suppose  that  oil  and  water  would  harmo 
nize.  From  the  point  of  view  of  law  I'm  the  offending  party, 
and  you'll  be  a  free  woman  to  sue  for  divorce  on  the  ground  of 
desertion,  by  the  end  of  three  years.  In  the  meantime,  you 
can  go  back  to  your  kindergarten  work  or  whatever  you  see  fit. 
You  have  your  health,  and  your  philanthropic  church  friends 
will  enable  you  to  support  yourself. 

The  only  hitch  is  the  children.  If  you  had  been  ready  to 
follow  me  to  New  York  when  I  first  suggested  it,  we  might  not 
be  separating  now.  I  expect  and  am  anxious  to  provide  for 
them.  If  you  will  send  them  on  to  me,  they  shall  want  for 
nothing.  But  if  you  are  bent  on  keeping  them,  as  I  foresee 
may  be  the  case,  the  responsibility  is  yours.  I  should  like  one 
at  least — preferably  the  boy.  If  you  insist  on  keeping  them 
both,  I  can't  help  myself.  There's  where  you  have  the  whip- 
hand  over  me.  But  don't  delude  yourself  with  the  notion  that 
I  don't  love  my  own  flesh  and  blood  because  I'm  not  willing  to 
live  with  their  mother. 

There  will  be  no  use  in  your  coming  on  here  or  trying  to 
find  me.  I  have  made  up  my  mind.  We  could  never  be  happy 
together,  so  the  fewer  words  said  about  parting  the  better.  Send 
your  answer  regarding  the  children  to  the  New  York  post-office. 
I  shall  expect  it  for  a  week.  The  money  you  loaned  me  is  gone 
with  the  rest,  but  they  can't  turn  you  out  of  your  house  until 
the  mortgage  is  due,  if  you  pay  the  interest.  Some  day  I  shall 
pay  it  back  to  you.  I  wish  you  well,  and  consider  I'm  doing 
us  both  a  service  in  cutting  loose  from  you. 

Good-by,  EMIL. 

It  seemed  to  Constance  when  she  had  finished 
this  letter  as  though  her  heart  would  stop.  Was 
this  reality?  Could  it  be  that  her  husband  was 
abandoning  her  and  her  children  in  cold  blood, 
treating  the  sacred  ties  of  marriage  as  lightly  as 
though  they  were  straws?  Alas!  his  cruel  words 
stared  her  in  the  face,  freezing  her  soul,  which  had 
been  sick  for  days  over  his  unexplained  absence; 
sick  from  dread.  Yes,  she  had  guessed;  but  she 
had  put  the  horror  from  her  as  impossible,  despite 

78 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

his  hints.  Unbalanced  and  embittered  as  he  was, 
he  could  not  be  so  unkind.  Now  she  was  face  to 
face  with  certainty;  there  was  no  room  for  hope. 
It  was  true;  so  cruelly  inhumanly  true  that  her 
brain  felt  dazed  and  numb.  She  gazed  at  his  writ 
ing  stony-eyed  and  appalled,  limp  with  dismay  and 
forlornness.  To  avoid  falling  she  put  out  her 
hand  to  the  table,  and  the  contact  of  her  own  flesh 
served  to  readjust  her  consciousness.  Seating  her 
self  she  swept  her  fingers  across  her  brow  to  rally 
her  senses,  and  read  the  letter  again  slowly.  Then 
mortification  succeeded  dismay,  and  resentment 
followed  close  on  mortification.  The  wounded 
pride  of  the  wife,  the  indignation  of  the  mother 
protesting  for  her  children  asserted  themselves, 
causing  her  to  flush  to  the  roots  of  her  hair  and  her 
pulses  to  tingle.  Coward!  Unnatural  father! 
What  had  she  done  to  deserve  this?  What  had 
they  done,  helpless  innocents?  Give  them  up  to 
him?  Her  children,  now  the  only  joy  of  her  life? 
Never.  They  could  not  both  have  them.  Why 
should  he  who  had  left  them  in  the  lurch  have 
either?  She  could  hear  their  prattle  in  the  ad 
joining  room,  poor  little  souls,  unconscious  of  their 
misery.  Then  her  sense  of  wounded  pride  and  her 
anger  were  forgotten  in  the  agony  of  a  possible 
separation  from  her  offspring,  and  in  the  loss  of 
her  husband's  love,  and  her  tense  nerves  gave  way. 
uOh,  Emil,  my  husband,  how  could  you?"  she 
moaned,  and  burying  her  face  in  her  hands  she  let 
sorrow  have  full  sway. 

When  she  had  dried  her  eyes  she  was  prepared 
to  face  the  situation  and  to  think  more  calmly. 
Certain  points  were  now  clear.  Emil  was  right; 

79 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

since  he  had  ceased  to  love  her,  they  could  never 
be  happy  together.  So  far  as  she  could  see,  she 
had  not  been  at  fault,  though  he  had  persuaded 
himself  that  she  was  to  blame.  She  would  never 
have  left  him;  but  now  that  he  had  deserted  her, 
she  could  dare  to  admit  that  their  souls  were  not 
in  accord,  and  that  her  love  and  respect  for  him 
had  been  waning  in  spite  of  herself  for  many 
months.  She  would  not  attempt  to  follow  him, 
and  she  desired  to  retain  both  the  children.  Was 
it  her  duty  to  let  Emil  have  one  of  them?  Here 
was  the  only  harassing  point  in  the  plans  for  the 
future  which  she  was  formulating.  Would  it  be 
fair  to  the  children  to  separate  them?  Would  she 
be  justified  in  keeping  them  both,  in  view  of  the 
affection  which  their  father  had  professed  for  his 
own  flesh  and  blood?  As  Emil  had  declared,  he 
and  she  had  made  a  mess  of  their  marriage,  and 
they  were  to  separate.  Was  it  fair  to  him  to  keep 
both  the  boy  and  the  girl?  Ah,  but  she  could  not 
bear  the  thought  of  giving  up  either.  She  felt  the 
need  of  counsel.  To  whom  could  she  turn?  Who 
were  her  friends?  She  thought  of  Mr.  Prentiss, 
and  she  remembered  her  husband's  taunt  concern 
ing  her  philanthropic  church  friends  with  a  sense 
of  shrinking.  The  church  offered  itself  as  a  refuge 
to  all  in  the  hour  of  distress,  but  it  seemed  to  her 
as  though  she  would  rather  starve  than  apply  to 
Mr.  Prentiss.  Not  that  she  was  afraid  of  starv 
ing.  That  side  of  the  situation  had  no  terrors  for 
her.  She  was  almost  glad  at  the  idea  of  support 
ing  herself  and  her  darlings,  and  she  had  entire 
confidence  in  her  ability  to  do  so,  even  though  she 
were  forced  to  scrub  floors.  But  she  yearned  for 

80 


'Oh,  Emil,  my  husband,  how  could  you?  "  she  moaned 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

the  sympathy  and  advice  of  a  friend.  How  lonely 
she  had  suddenly  become  in  this  large,  busy  city! 
Emil  had  evinced  little  desire,  especially  of  late, 
to  make  friends  in  the  neighborhood,  and  she  had 
been  so  absorbed  in  her  home  and  her  husband's 
interest  that  she  had  disregarded  her  social  oppor 
tunities.  He  had  been  apt  to  speak  slightingly  of 
their  acquaintances  as  people  whom  he  would  soon 
outstrip  in  the  struggle  of  life.  And  now  she  was 
the  poorest  of  the  poor,  the  saddest  of  the  sad,  one 
of  the  lowly  common  people  for  whom  her  doctor 
father's  heart  had  ever  cherished  fond  and  pa 
tient  sympathy.  She  was  one  of  them  now  her 
self.  How  different  had  been  her  dreams 
and  her  ambition.  To  think  that  she,  Constance 
Forbes,  had  come  to  this — a  wife  abandoned  by 
her  husband,  alone  and  friendless,  with  only  the 
semblance  of  a  roof  to  shelter  her  and  her  chil 
dren.  But  all  this  was  nothing  if  only  she  need 
not  part  with  either  of  her  babies.  She  would  be 
able  to  support  them,  never  fear,  and  with  them 
to  support  she  could  be  brave,  even  happy.  But 
without  them?  No,  no,  Emil  had  forsaken  her, 
she  had  lost  her  faith  in  him,  he  was  not  worthy 
of  the  sacrifice;  she  dared  not  trust  him;  he  had 
no  right  to  either.  She  could  not,  she  would  not 
let  either  go. 

When  the  morning  came  she  was  more  firmly  of 
the  same  opinion,  and  she  composed  this  reply  to 
her  husband  : 

EMIL  : 

I  have  your  letter  and  my  heart  is  filled  with  sorrow.  I  can 
not  compel  you  to  live  with  me  against  your  will.  God  knows 
I  have  tried  to  be  a  loving,  dutiful,  and  sympathetic  wife,  but  it 

81 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

seems  I  have  failed  to  please  you.  It  is  true  that  our  ideas  of 
how  to  live  and  what  is  right  are  very  different.  I  have  been 
aware  of  that  in  my  secret  soul,  but  for  your  sake  I  did  my  best 
to  adopt  your  point  of  view.  Now  I  shall  be  free  to  follow  my 
own.  Since  you  no  longer  love  me,  I  am  not  sorry  that  we  are 
to  live  apart,  for  I  can  see  now  that  I  have  suffered  much  on 
your  account.  But  I  do  not  choose  to  reproach  you.  What 
good  would  it  do  ?  Besides  you  are  the  father  of  my  children — 
poor  little  things.  I  do  not  think  that  I  should  have  written  to 
you  at  all  if  it  were  not  for  the  question  what  is  to  become  of 
them. 

I  am  trying  to  do  what  is  best  for  them  and  to  be  just ;  just 
to  you  and  to  myself.  I  have  decided  to  keep  both  the  children. 
They  are  babies  still,  and  need  a  mother's  love.  A  father's  too, 
but  it  seems  they  cannot  have  both.  Let  God  judge  between 
us,  Emil.  They  are  my  flesh  and  blood  too,  and  it  is  you  who 
are  forsaking  us,  not  we  you.  As  you  say,  I  have  my  health 
and  we  shall  not  starve.  I  am  not  afraid.  There  is  nothing 
more  to  say,  is  there  ?  It  has  all  been  a  dreadful  mistake — and 
we  thought  we  should  be  so  happy.  Good-by.  In  spite  of 
everything  I  shall  always  think  of  you  kindly. 

CONSTANCE. 

Having  despatched  this  she  felt  as  though  she 
would  be  glad  to  die.  Life  seemed  so  flat,  and  her 
condition  so  humiliating.  Her  love  for  Emil  was 
dead;  the  union  of  their  souls  was  broken;  what 
was  there  to  look  forward  to  ?  Yet  she  knew  that 
she  must  not  stop  to  repine  or  to  indulge  in  self- 
pity.  The  stern  necessity  of  winning  bread  for 
her  children  confronted  her  and  must  be  faced  at 
once  and  resolutely.  In  this  she  must  find  happi 
ness  and  fresh  inspiration.  It  was  her  duty  to 
close  the  ears  and  eyes  of  her  soul  to  the  voices  and 
visions  of  the  past.  Hard  work  would  save  her 
brain  from  giving  way,  and  hard  work  only. 
What  should  that  work  be?  What  was  she  to 

82 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

do?  In  the  first  glow  of  her  pride,  revolting 
at  the  slight  which  her  husband  had  put  upon 
her,  the  way  had  seemed  easy,  but  viewed  in  the 
sober  light  of  reality  it  bristled  with  difficulties. 
Yet  now,  as  she  pondered  and  realized  what 
failure  would  mean,  her  spirit  rose  to  meet  them, 
and  immediate  needs  forced  sorrow  to  the  back 
ground. 

Where  was  she  to  find  work?  Since  the  receipt 
of  her  husband's  letter  everything  outside  her  own 
emotions  had  been  a  blank  to  her;  her  gaze  had 
been  solely  introspective.  Conscious  now  of  the 
need  of  action  and  of  renewing  her  contact  with 
the  world,  she  took  up  the  newspaper,  yesterday's 
issue  of  which  lay  unopened  on  the  table,  and  be 
gan  to  examine  the  page  of  advertisements  for 
employment.  She  must  find  at  once  something 
which  would  provide  her  with  ready  money.  Only 
through  friends  and  only  after  delay  could  she 
hope  to  obtain  a  kindergarten  position;  it  would 
take  time  and  instruction  to  learn  typewriting;  she 
was  not  sufficiently  proficient  in  languages  or  music 
to  offer  herself  as  a  teacher.  She  could  become  a 
domestic  servant  or  a  shopgirl.  In  the  former  case 
it  would  be  necessary  to  board  out  her  children, 
to  give  them  to  some  institution,  perhaps,  a  pros 
pect  which  wrung  her  heart;  in  the  latter  she  could 
be  with  them  at  night,  but  who  would  look  after 
and  guard  them  during  the  day?  What  did  other 
women  do  whose  husbands  ran  away  and  left 
them?  The  long  list  of  people  out  of  work  was 
appalling,  and  few  of  the  opportunities  offered 
seemed  to  fit  her  circumstances.  Someone  was 
seeking  employment  as  a  seamstress.  She  might 

8 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

take  in  sewing.  This  perhaps  was  the  most  feas 
ible  suggestion.  She  was  handy  at  plain  sewing, 
and  a  little  practice  would  doubtless  render  her 
skilful.  Yes,  she  would  try  this,  and  in  order  to 
obtain  a  start  would  solicit  work  from  some  of  the 
neighbors,  if  needs  be.  The  neighbors?  They 
did  not  know  as  yet  of  her  misfortune — her  dis 
grace,  for  it  was  a  disgrace  to  be  forsaken  by  her 
husband.  It  would  be  necessary  to  tell  them. 
What  should  she  say?  Entertaining  sadly  this 
necessity  of  an  avowal,  she  glanced  over  the  rest 
of  the  newspaper,  and  came  suddenly  upon  a  para 
graph  which  informed  her  that  her  misfortune  was 
already  public.  Prefaced  by  offensive  headlines, 
"Emil  Stuart  disappears  from  Benham!  What 
has  become  of  Mrs.  Morgan's  mortgage  money?" 
the  wretched  story  stood  exploited  to  the  world. 
Constance  read  and  the  cup  of  her  distress  and 
humiliation  overflowed.  It  needed  only  this  in 
sinuation  of  dishonesty  to  complete  her  misery. 
Her  husband  an  embezzler?  Where  should  she 
hide  her  head?  Nor  was  there  comfort  in  the  re 
porter's  closing  effort  at  euphemism:  "One  or  two 
acquaintances  of  the  late  candidate  for  aldermanic 
honors,  when  apprised  of  his  mysterious  disappear 
ance,  expressed  the  belief  that  his  seeming  irregu 
larities  would  be  explained  to  the  satisfaction  of 
all  concerned;  but  a  gentleman,  whose  name  we 
are  not  at  liberty  to  disclose,  hazards  an  opinion, 
based  on  personal  observation,  that  Mr.  Stuart  has 
been  premeditating  this  step  for  several  weeks,  and 
is  a  fugitive  from  justice.  The  circumstance  that 
his  wife  and  two  children  have  been  left  behind 
in  Benham  invites  the  further  inquiry  whether  he 

84 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

has  also  abandoned  his  family.  There  are  rumors 
that  Mr.  Stuart's  domestic  relations  were  not  alto 
gether  harmonious." 

Constance  let  the  newspaper  slip  from  her 
hands.  Her  cheeks  burned  with  shame.  This  was 
the  last  straw.  Her  husband  a  defaulter,  and  her 
relations  with  him  the  subject  of  common  news 
paper  gossip.  As  she  stood  spell-bound  by  this 
new  phase  of  misfortune  the  door-bell  rang.  A 
visitor.  Who  could  it  be?  Some  sympathetic  or 
curious  neighbor  who  had  read  of  her  calamities. 
Or  more  probably  the  writer  of  the  newspaper 
article  coming  to  probe  into  her  misery  in  search 
of  fresh  copy.  For  a  moment  she  thought  that  she 
would  not  answer  the  call,  and  she  waited  hoping 
that  whoever  it  was  would  go  away.  Again  the 
bell  rang,  this  time  sharply.  It  might  be  some 
thing  important,  even  a  telegram  from  Emil  to 
clear  himself.  Picking  up  the  newspaper  she  con 
cealed  it  hastily,  then  stepped  into  the  passage  and 
opened  the  door  slightly. 

"May  I  come  in?"  asked  a  strong,  friendly 
voice. 

"Oh  yes,  Mr.  Prentiss;  excuse  me,"  she  faltered. 
She  had  recognized  at  once  who  her  visitor  was, 
but  so  many  bewildering  things  had  happened  that 
she  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute,  refusing  to 
credit  her  own  senses.  As  she  opened  wide  the 
door,  the  clergyman  strode  in  fearlessly  as  though 
he  realized  that  the  situation  must  be  carried  by 
storm.  Entering  the  parlor,  he  put  out  his  hand 
and  said  with  manly  effusion  : 

"I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  let  me  help  you,  Mrs. 
Stuart." 

85 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Sit  down,  please.  You  are  very  kind.  I " 

Her  words  choked  her,  and  she  stopped. 

"I  saw  by  the  newspaper  yesterday  that  you 
were  in  trouble.  I  do  not  wish  to  pry  into  your 
affairs,  but  I  thought  that  you  might  be  glad  of 
the  counsel  of  a  friend." 

His  visit  was  precious  balm  to  her  spirit,  but, 
despite  her  gratitude,  the  knowledge  that  he  was 
heaping  the  traditional  coals  of  fire  on  her  head 
made  her  uncomfortable.  She  had  choked  from 
mingled  relief  and  mortification.  But  now  her 
finer  instinct  responded  to  the  kindness  of  his  words 
and  she  said  with  simple  directness:  "I  should  like 
to  tell  you  everything,  Mr.  Prentiss.  My  husband 
left  a  week  ago.  He  does  not  intend  to  return. 
I  have  a  letter  from  him,  and  he — he  does  not  wish 
to  live  with  me  any  longer.  He  was  willing  to 
support  the  children,  but  I  could  not  make  up  my 
mind  to  let  them  go.  Our  money  is  all  gone  and 
this  house  is  mortgaged.  If  you  will  help  me  to 
find  work  so  that  I  can  support  them  and  myself, 
I  shall  be  very  grateful.  It  was  very  good  of  you 


to  come  to  see  me." 


The  children,  attracted  by  the  voice  of  a 
stranger,  had  run  in  and  stood  one  on  either  side 
of  their  mother  staring  at  him  shyly  with  cherubic 
eyes.  The  clergyman  said  to  himself  that  here 
was  a  veritable  Madonna  of  distress — this  lithe, 
nervous-looking  woman  with  her  slim  figure  and 
soulful  face.  How  pretty  and  neat  she  looked  in 
spite  of  her  misery !  How  engaging  were  the  tones 
in  which  she  had  set  forth  her  calamity !  He  had 
always  admired  her,  and  it  had  been  a  disappoint 
ment  to  him  that  she  had  strayed.  There  was  al- 

86 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

most  jubilation  in  his  heart  as  he  heard  that  she 
was  free  from  the  wretch  who  had  pulled  her 
down ;  and  though  he  intended  to  temper  the  ardor 
of  the  priest  by  the  tact  of  a  man  of  the  world,  he 
could  not  entirely  restrain  his  impulse  to  stigmatize 
her  husband.  UI  see,"  he  said.  "You  are  much 
to  be  pitied.  It  is  a  cruel  wrong;  the  act  of  a 
coward.  But  you  must  not  take  your  trouble  too 
much  to  heart,  Mrs.  Stuart,  for  the  man  who  will 
leave  a  sweet  wife  and  tender  children  from  mere 
caprice  is  no  real  husband  and  father." 

"Mr.  Stuart  has  had  much  to  worry  him  of  late. 
He  has  lost  money,  and  been  unfortunate  in  poli 
tics."  Her  impulse  was  to  apologize  for  her  hus 
band  even  then.  UI  cannot  understand  though 
how  he  could  leave  us,"  she  added.  After  all  why 
should  she  a  second  time  on  Emil's  account  set  her 
face  against  the  truth  in  the  presence  of  this  true 
friend?  Emil  was  a  coward,  and  his  act  was  a 
cruel  wrong. 

But  Mr.  Prentiss  had  recovered  his  aplomb.  "I 
will  not  distress  you  by  talking  about  him;  he  has 
gone.  The  matter  with  which  I  am  concerned  is 
how  to  help  you.  We  must  find  you  employment 


at  once." 


Constance  regarded  him  gratefully.  "That  is 
my  great  requirement  just  now,  Mr.  Prentiss.  I 
need  work  to  keep  my  children  from  starving  and 
to  help  me  to  forget.  I  am  not  afraid  of  work. 
I  shall  be  glad  to  do  anything  for  which  I  am  fit." 

UI  understand,  I  understand.  It  is  the  pride  of 
my  church  to  help  just  such  women  as  you  to  help 
themselves.  You  need  give  yourself  no  concern 
as  to  your  immediate  pecuniary  needs.  They  will 

87 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

be  provided  for.    I  will  send  the  Deaconess  to  you 


at  once." 


The  directness  of  his  bounty,  the  plain  intima 
tion  that  she  was  a  subject  for  charity  brought  a 
flush  to  her  cheeks.  But  she  knew  in  an  instant 
that  it  would  be  false  pride  to  protest.  There  was 
no  food  or  money  in  the  house. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  simply. 

Mr.  Prentiss  divined  her  reluctance  and  appre 
ciated  the  delicacy  of  her  submission.  He  recog 
nized  that  this  woman  with  wistful  brown  eyes  and 
nervous,  intelligent  face  was  no  ordinary  person — 
was  even  more  deserving  than  he  had  supposed, 
and  his  thoughts  were  already  busy  with  the  prob 
lem  of  her  future.  He  must  find  just  the  right 
thing  for  her.  "I  know,  of  course,  that  you  wish 
to  become  self-supporting  as  soon  as  possible,"  he 
said.  "Will  you  tell  me  a  little  more  about  your 
self  and  your  capabilities?  You  came  to  Benham 
a  few  months  before  your  marriage  to  fit  yourself 
to  be  a  kindergarten  teacher,  if  I  remember 
aright?" 

During  the  momentary  pause  which  preceded 
this  inquiry  her  conscience  had  been  reasserting 
itself.  She  had  longed  for  counsel  and  here  it  was. 
If  she  had  erred,  there  was  yet  time  to  repair  her 
fault.  "Before  we  talk  of  that,  may  I  ask  you 
one  question,  Mr.  Prentiss?  I  wish  to  know  if  you 
think  it  was  selfish  of  me  to  keep  both  the  children. 
I  desire  to  do  what  is  right  this  time,  whatever  it 
cost  me."  She  clasped  her  hands  resolutely  in  her 
lap  as  though  she  were  nerving  herself  for  a  sacri 
fice.  "I  hope  you  will  tell  me  exactly  what  you 
think." 

88 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

The  clergyman's  heart  warmed  at  this  revela 
tion  of  spiritual  vigor.  "Here  is  a  soul  worth  help 
ing,"  he  reflected.  Then,  in  answer  to  her  appeal, 
he  exclaimed  with  righteous  emphasis:  "Ask  your 
own  heart,  my  dear  woman.  Would  you  dare 
trust  these  babies  to  your  husband's  keeping?  This 
is  a  problem  of  right  and  wrong,  and  demands  a 
severing  of  the  sheep  from  the  goats.  You  may 
banish  that  doubt  forever." 

Constance  dropped  her  eyes  to  hide  the  tears 
of  satisfaction  which  had  sprung  into  them  at  his 
words.  Her  children  were  safe.  The  counsel 
given  was  the  very  echo  of  the  test  by  which  she 
had  justified  herself  toward  Emil.  "Excuse  me," 
she  said  in  apology  for  her  emotion.  Then  look 
ing  up  she  added  with  tremulous  brightness,  "I 
felt  that  I  must  be  sure  before  anything  else  was 
decided.  And  now  to  answer  your  question  as  to 
my  own  capabilities:  I  have  none.  I  am  eager  to 
learn,  and  I  have  had  some  education — my  father 
was  fond  of  books  and  had  a  library — but  I  tell 
you  frankly  that  there  is  nothing  but  the  simplest 
manual  work  for  which  I  am  fitted  at  the  present 
time.  I  have  thought  that  all  over." 

"So  far  so  good.  Much  of  the  trouble  of  this 
world  proceeds  from  the  inability  of  people  to 
discern  for  what  they  are  not  fitted.  Can  you 
sew?" 

"I  can  do  plain  sewing  satisfactorily." 

"We  will  begin  with  that  then.  It  will  keep  you 
busy  for  the  time  being.  Meanwhile  I  shall  have 
an  opportunity  to  consider  what  you  had  best 
undertake."  He  rose  and  put  out  his  hand  with 
spontaneous  friendliness.  "Good-by.  God  bless 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

you.  You  are  a  brave  soul,  and  He  will  not  desert 
you  or  leave  you  comfortless." 

Constance  quickened  at  the  firm  pressure,  and 
her  own  fingers  acknowledged  the  interest  which 
it  expressed.  She  looked  into  his  eyes  with  frank 
confidence.  "You  have  come  to  me  at  a  time  when 
I  needed  someone  more  than  ever  before  in  my  life. 
I  shall  never  forget  it." 

Mr.  Prentiss  nodded  and  turned  to  go  as  though 
he  would  disclaim  this  expression  of  everlasting 
obligation.  He  felt  that  he  was  about  his  Master's 
business,  and  was  seeking  neither  thanks  nor  praise. 
Yet,  while  he  deprecated  her  gratitude,  her  entire 
mental  attitude  caused  him  ethical  and  aesthetic 
satisfaction.  The  conviction  that  this  ward  of  the 
church  was  worth  saving  and  helping  gave  elas 
ticity  to  his  step  and  erectness  to  his  large  figure 
as  he  strode  up  the  street,  knocking  now  and  again 
some  bit  of  orange  peel  or  other  refuse  from  the 
sidewalk  with  a  sweep  of  his  cane,  which  suggested 
a  spirit  eager  to  do  battle  in  behalf  of  righteous 
ness. 


90 


VII 


TWO  days  later  the  Rev.  George  Prentiss 
dined  at  the  house  of  another  of  his  par 
ishioners,  Mrs.  Randolph  Wilson.  She  was  a 
widow  of  about  forty-five,  the  sister  of  Carleton 
Howard,  reputedly  the  wealthiest  and  most  saga 
cious  of  Benham's  financial  magnates,  and  a  gener 
ous  benefactress  of  St.  Stephen's.  Her  bounty  had 
enabled  the  rector  from  time  to  time  to  carry  out 
his  cherished  plans  for  the  aesthetic  adornment  of 
the  church  property.  The  reredos,  two  stained- 
glass  windows,  and  the  baptismal  font  in  the 
enlarged  edifice  had  been  provided  by  her;  and 
in  the  matter  of  charity  she  never  failed  to  respond 
by  munificent  subscriptions  to  the  various  causes 
in  aid  of  which  he  appealed  to  his  congregation. 
They  were  friends  and  allies;  interested  mutually 
in  St.  Stephen's,  and  interested  also,  as  they  both 
liked  to  feel,  in  promoting  American  civilization 
outside  of  church  work.  Her  house,  or  palace,  as 
it  should  more  properly  be  termed,  a  counterpart 
to  that  of  her  brother's  which  adjoined  it,  stood 
in  the  van  of  progress,  in  Benham's  fashionable 
new  quarter  beyond  the  River  Drive.  No  pains 
or  expense  had  been  spared  to  make  these  mansions 
impressive  and  magnificent.  Architects  of  repute 
had  been  employed  to  superintend  their  construc 
tion,  and  their  decorations  and  furnishings  had 
been  chosen  in  consultation  with  persons  whose 

91 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

business  it  was  to  know  the  whereabouts  of  admir 
able  objects  of  art,  and  to  tempt  impecunious  noble 
families  abroad  to  exchange  their  unique  treasures 
for  dazzling  round  sums  of  American  gold. 

Mrs.  Wilson  could  fairly  be  termed  the  leader 
of  social  activity  in  Benham,  if  such  a  term  be  com 
patible  with  the  institutions  of  a  country  where 
every  women  is  supposed  to  be  a  law  unto  herself. 
Fashions,  in  the  narrow  sense  of  clothes,  are  in 
America  set  by  the  dressmakers,  but  what  Mrs. 
Wilson  wore  was  always  a  matter  of  moment  to 
women  who  wished  to  be  in  style.  She  dressed 
elegantly,  and  she  was  able  to  take  liberties  with 
the  dressmakers,  doing  daring  things  with  colors 
and  materials  which  justified  themselves,  yet  were 
so  individual  that  they  were  liable  to  make  guys 
of  those  who  copied  her.  Consequently,  her  ward 
robe  had  a  distinction  of  its  own  which  proclaimed 
fashion  yet  defied  it.  Yet  her  clothes,  striking  and 
superb  as  they  often  were,  constituted  only  a  small 
part  of  her  social  effectiveness.  Her  gracious  fin 
ished  manners,  and  quick,  tactful  intelligence  were 
the  agents  of  a  spirit  perpetually  eager  to  be  occu 
pied  and  to  lead,  and  which  had  found  a  labor  of 
love  in  directing  what  may  well  be  called  Benham's 
aesthetic  renaissance. 

For  Benham's  evolution  had  been  no  mere 
growth  of  bricks  and  mortar,  and  no  mere  triumph 
in  census  figures  over  other  centres  of  population. 
Even  more  remarkable  and  swift  than  its  physical 
changes  had  been  the  transformation  in  the  point 
of  view  of  its  citizens.  Twenty  years  earlier — in 
1870,  when  Mr.  Prentiss  was  a  young  man  just 
starting  in  the  ministry — he  had  been  one  of  a 

92 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

small  group  of  earnest  souls  interested  in  awaken 
ing  the  public  to  a  consciousness  of  the  paucity  of 
their  aesthetic  interests,  and  to  the  value  of  color 
as  a  stimulating  factor  in  the  every-day  life  of  the 
community,  and  as  such  he  had  often  deplored  the 
aridity  of  Benham's  point  of  view.  In  those  days 
the  city  was  virtually  a  hot-bed  of  republican  sim 
plicity  and  contempt  for  social  refinements  so  far 
as  all  but  a  very  small  percentage  of  the  inhabi 
tants  was  concerned.  Those  who  built  houses 
larger  and  finer  than  their  neighbors  were  few  in 
number  and  were  stigmatized,  if  not  as  enemies 
of  the  institutions  of  the  country,  as  purse-proud 
and  frivolous.  Hotels  were  conducted  on  the 
theory  that  what  was  good  enough  for  the  landlord 
was  good  enough  for  the  guest,  and  that  malcon 
tents  could  go  elsewhere.  In  matters  appertaining 
to  art,  hygiene,  education  or  municipal  manage 
ment,  one  man's  opinion  was  regarded  as  equal  to 
any  other's,  provided  he  could  get  the  job.  Special 
knowledge  was  sneered  at,  and  the  best  patriots  in 
the  public  estimation  were  those  who  did  not  dis 
trust  the  ability  of  the  average  citizen  to  produce 
masterpieces  in  the  line  of  his  or  her  employment 
by  dint  of  raw  genius  untrammelled  or  unpolluted 
by  the  experience  of  older  civilizations.  Though 
solid  business  men  wore  solemn-looking  black 
frock-coats  and  black  wisp  ties  in  business  hours,  to 
dress  again  in  the  evening  was  looked  at  askance  as 
undemocratic.  It  would  have  been  considered  an 
invasion  of  the  rights  of  the  free-born  citizen  to 
forbid  expectoration  in  the  street  cars.  Sugges 
tions  that  the  vicious  and  unregenerate  adult  pau 
per  poor  should  not  be  herded  with  the  young,  that 

93 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

busy  physicians  should  cleanse  a  lancet  before 
probing  a  wound,  and  that  sewage  should  not  be 
emptied  into  a  river  used  as  a  source  of  water 
supply,  were  still  sniffed  at  by  those  in  charge  of 
public  affairs  as  aristocratic  innovations  unworthy 
the  attention  of  a  sovereign  people.  Architectural 
beauty  both  within  and  without  the  house  was  dis 
regarded  in  favor  of  monotonous  sober  hues  and 
solid  effects,  which  were  deemed  to  be  suggestive 
of  the  seriousness  of  the  national  character. 

While  deploring  some  of  these  civic  manifesta 
tions,  Mr.  Prentiss  had  appreciated  that  the  basis 
of  this  aesthetic  sterility  was  ethical.  When  less 
discerning  persons  had  attributed  it  solely  to  ig 
norance  and  self-righteous  superficiality  he  had 
maintained  that  a  puritanical,  yet  moral  and  sin 
cere,  hostility  to  extravagance  and  display  was 
responsible  for  the  preference  for  ugly  architec 
ture  and  homely  upholstery  and  decoration,  and 
that  conscience  was  the  most  formidable  obstacle 
to  progress.  As  a  priest  of  a  church  which 
fostered  beauty  and  favored  rational  enjoyment 
of  the  fruits  of  the  earth,  he  had  never  sym 
pathized  with  this  public  attitude,  but  he  had 
understood  and,  as  an  American,  respected  it. 

Now,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  as  it  were,  all 
was  changed,  and  Benham  was  in  the  throes  of  a 
revival;  a  revival  which  during  the  last  ten  years 
had  revolutionized  Benham's  architecture  and 
Benham's  point  of  view.  The  public  had  become 
possessed  by  the  conviction  that  they  had  out 
grown  their  associations  and  that  the  standards 
hitherto  revered  were  out  of  date  and  unworthy 
of  a  nation  and  a  city  pledged  to  enlighten  the 

94 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

world,  upon  whom  prosperity  had  been  bestowed 
in  large  measure.  The  group  of  earnest  souls 
who  had  dared  to  criticise  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
become  a  phalanx — numerically  unimportant,  still, 
when  compared  with  the  whole  population,  that 
seething  army  of  industrial  wage-earners  —  but 
assertive  and  energetic  out  of  proportion  to  their 
numbers.  The  city  had  become  a  hive  of  reform 
ing  activities.  Specialists  in  the  arts  and  human 
ities  were  no  longer  classed  as  traitors,  but  were 
welcomed  by  a  growing  clientage  as  safeguards 
against  bumptious  individualism.  Though  a  cheer 
ful  optimism  in  regard  to  the  city's  architectural 
merits  still  prevailed  at  large,  a  silent  censorship 
was  at  work;  substituting,  in  the  business  quarter, 
new  mammoth  structures  adapted  to  modern  in 
dustrial  needs,  erecting  in  the  fashionable  quarter, 
by  the  aid  of  American  architects  trained  in  Paris, 
well-built  and  individual-looking  residences.  In 
stead  of  three  or  four  cheerless,  barrack-like 
caravansaries  with  sodden  cookery,  there  was  a 
score  of  modern  hotels,  the  proprietors  of  which 
vied  with  one  another  in  their  endeavors  to  lure 
patronage  by  costly  and  sumptuous  innovations. 
There  were  comfortable  and  inviting  restaurants. 
The  slap-dash  luncheon  counter,  with  its  display 
of  pallid  pie  and  one  cadaverous  chicken,  was  wan 
ing  in  the  popular  esteem,  in  favor  of  neat  spas, 
at  which  the  rush  of  patronage  was  alleviated  by 
clean  service  and  wholesome  fare.  There  were 
eight  theatres,  each  more  spacious  and  splendid 
than  its  predecessor.  A  frowsy  black  coat,  worn 
in  the  forenoon,  had  ceased  to  be  a  badge  of  pa 
triotism  or  moral  worth,  and  the  community  had 

95 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

become  alive  to  the  values  of  spruceness,  color, 
and  comfort  in  matters  of  dress.  Not  only  this, 
but  on  the  streets  of  Benham  there  were  many 
stylish  equipages  with  liveried  grooms,  and  in  the 
superb  homes  which  the  wealthy  citizens  had 
established,  there  were  grand  entertainments, 
where  rivalry  was  rampant  and  money  flowed  like 
champagne.  And  last,  but  not  least,  there  was 
Mrs.  Randolph  Wilson,  the  quintessence  in  her 
own  person  of  all  that  was  best  in  this  revival  in 
favor  of  the  beautiful  things  of  life,  the  living 
embodiment  of  this  newly  directed  and  freshly 
inspired  energy.  For  well-to-do  Benham  and  Mr. 
Prentiss  liked  to  believe  that  the  impulse  behind 
these  materialistic  manifestations  was  conscience 
and  aspiration,  a  reaching  out  for  a  greater  human 
happiness  and  a  wider  human  usefulness  than  had 
been  possible  under  the  old  dispensation.  This 
access  of  lavish  philanthropy  and  study  of  chari 
table  methods,  this  zeal  of  committees  promoting 
new  and  more  thorough  methods  in  hygiene  and 
education,  and  all  the  phases  of  this  new  awaken 
ing  in  quest  of  Christian  beauty  signified  to  him 
Benham's — and  hence  American — originality  and 
fervor  refined  and  spiritualized;  Benham's  enter 
prise  and  independence  informed,  chastened,  and 
fortified. 

And  yet  there  was  another  side  to  this  whole 
matter  which  had  haunted  Mr.  Prentiss  much  of 
late,  and  which  was  in  his  thoughts  to-night  as  he 
sat  smoking  his  cigar  after  dinner.  He  had  dined 
sumptuously.  Cool  oysters,  soup  of  mushrooms, 
fish  smothered  in  a  luscious  sauce,  cutlets  of  veni 
son  with  French  beans,  little  pyramids  of  pate  de 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

foie  gras  encased  in  jelly,  butter-ball  ducks  with  a 
salad  richly  dressed,  and  a  confection  of  fruit, 
cream,  and  pastry,  which  was  evidently  a  gastro 
nomic  specialty  of  Mrs.  Wilson's  French  cook. 
He  had  tasted  everything;  he  had  drunk  two 
glasses  of  champagne,  and  been  pleasantly  aware 
that  the  cup  of  black  coffee,  served  after  dinner, 
was  an  entrancing  concoction  which  his  own  kitchen 
did  not  afford;  and  he  felt  that  his  repast  had  done 
him  good.  It  was  for  him  an  occasion.  Obviously 
it  was  for  Mrs.  Wilson  an  every-day  affair.  More 
over,  this  rich,  delicious  dinner,  served  by  noiseless 
servants  on  choice  china,  was  in  harmony  with  the 
rest  of  the  magnificent  establishment,  in  harmony 
with  the  artistic  scheme  of  color,  the  soft  lustrous 
draperies,  the  striking  pictures  and  other  master 
pieces  of  art  purchased  for  large  sums  abroad,  and 
Mrs.  Wilson's  beautiful  toilette  and  exquisite  per 
sonality.  Here  was  luxury  triumphant  and  com 
pelling,  yet  unappeased  and  seeking  fresh  oppor 
tunities  for  aesthetic  delight;  as  witness  a  Millet, 
an  inlaid  table,  and  a  Japanese  idol  in  the  room 
in  which  he  sat,  all  new  since  he  had  dined  there 
last. 

What  a  vivid  contrast  all  this  to  the  cheerless 
often  squalid  homes  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
visit  as  a  rector  of  Christ's  church !  The  thought 
which  haunted  him  was  that  one  result  of  the  city's 
marvellous  growth  and  development  had  been  the 
accentuation  of  the  distinctions  between  rich  and 
poor,  between  class  and  class  in  a  community 
where,  until  lately,  there  had  been  theoretically  no 
classes.  To  be  sure  he  had  Mr.  Carleton 
Howard's  assertion  that  there  was  no  country  in 

97 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

the  world  where  the  poor  man  was  so  well  off. 
This  was  very  likely  true,  but  it  did  not  affect  the 
proposition  that  the  rich  were  daily  growing  richer 
and  more  self-indulgent.  What  was  to  be  the 
limit — the  outcome  of  this  renaissance  of  beauty 
and  comfort,  which  he  had  welcomed?  Had  not 
the  aesthetic  reaction  almost  reached  the  point 
where,  both  as  a  priest  of  God  and  as  a  good 
American,  it  behooved  him  to  cry  halt  against 
luxury  and  extravagance?  He  frowned  at  this 
last  reflection  for  the  reason  that  he  was  painfully 
aware  that  he  had  fulminated  against  this  sort  of 
thing  from  the  pulpit  for  years,  formerly  as  part 
of  the  clerical  formula  championing  the  cause  of 
the  spirit  against  the  flesh,  and  latterly  because 
the  Aladdin-like  growth  of  great  fortunes  all  over 
the  land,  and  conspicuously  in  his  own  community, 
had  often  suggested  the  comparison  between  the 
passage  of  a  camel  through  the  eye  of  a  needle  and 
the  rich  man's  entrance  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven 
as  an  appropriate  text.  He  had  spoken  with  fervor 
and  sincerity  concerning  the  responsibilities  of 
those  having  great  possessions,  and  sometimes  with 
living  pictures  in  his  mind.  Neither  Mrs.  Wilson 
nor  her  brother  had  ever  been  among  those  for 
whom  these  admonitions  were  intended.  They 
had  opened  their  purse-strings  liberally  to  every 
meritorious  cause.  The  goodly  size  of  their 
cheques  was  to  him  a  constant  source  both  of  sat 
isfaction  and  astonishment — astonishment  at  the 
new  possibilities  open  to  those  interested  in  God's 
kingdom. 

Yet,  though  he  put  from  him  as  ungenerous  and 
unnecessary  any  positive  criticism  of  his  hostess, 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

in  the  teeth  of  her  many  benefactions  and  her 
personal  activity  in  social  undertakings,  he  could 
not  help  realizing  that,  in  spite  of  his  utterances, 
the  evil  which  he  deprecated  was  proceeding  at  a 
pace  which  suggested  the  course  of  wild-fire.  And 
the  worst  of  it  was  that  he — the  church — was  so 
helpless.  Great  fortunes  had  been  accumulated 
with  a  zeal  which  suggested  the  inevitable  march 
of  destiny — a  law  which  seemed  almost  to  mock 
the  spirit  of  Christ — and,  even  while  he  was  mus 
ing,  the  city  had  become  a  theatre  of  industrial 
contrasts,  with  the  pomp  and  pride  of  life  in  the 
centre  of  the  stage  and  poverty  and  distress  in  the 
ample  background.  There  recurred  to  him  the 
traditional  image  of  the  curate  of  his  faith — the 
Church  of  England — cringing  before  or  patron 
ized  by  the  titled  worshippers  of  Mammon.  This, 
at  least,  he  could  resent  as  impossible  in  his  case — 
he  had  never  hesitated  to  speak  his  mind  to  any 
of  his  parishioners,  however  important — still,  the 
reminder  was  disconcerting  and  a  challenge  to  his 
conscience.  Nor  was  the  reflection  that  this  wave 
of  luxury,  this  more  and  more  exacting  reverence 
for  material  comforts,  was  a  part  of  the  movement 
of  the  century,  and  was  common  to  all  civilized 
countries,  a  solace.  He  was  an  American,  but  first 
of  all,  he  was  a  servant  of  the  church,  and  the 
church  was  the  beacon  of  civilization.  Was  she 
doing  her  work,  if  these  terrible  inequalities  were 
to  continue?  What  was  to  be  the  outcome  of  this 
zest  for  luxurious  personal  comfort? 

To  what  extent  the  church  ought  to  take  part 
in  the  economic  regeneration  of  the  world  was  one 
of  the  questions  which  Mr.  Prentiss  had  always 

99 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

found  perplexing.  He  was  well  aware  that  his 
parishioners  as  a  body  were  not  fond  of  hearing 
him  preach  on  what  they  called  secular  subjects. 
So  long  as  he  confined  himself  to  enumerating 
spiritual  truths,  they  were  not  averse  to  his  illus 
trating  his  stigmas  upon  sin  by  generalizations 
from  current  worldly  abuses;  but  he  knew  that 
many  shook  their  heads  and  declared  that  the  cob 
bler  should  stick  to  his  last  when  he  ventured  to 
discourse  on  political  topics  or  the  relations  of 
labor  and  capital.  Mr.  Prentiss  was  not  aware, 
however,  that  some  of  this  prejudice  proceeded 
from  the  circumstance  that  he  was  apt  to  lose  his 
head  on  such  occasions;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
much  of  it  was  genuine  disinclination  for  advice 
from  the  pulpit  on  subjects  which,  to  quote  the 
women  parishioners,  were  not  spiritual,  and,  to 
quote  the  men,  were  none  of  his  business.  His  con 
gregation  was  almost  entirely  composed  of  pew 
owners,  people  with  vested  rights,  among  which 
appeared  to  be  the  right  not  to  be  harrowed  by 
socialistic  doctrines.  They  were  ready  to  help  the 
poor  in  any  way  which  he  would  suggest,  and  they 
had  supplied  him  with  a  mission  church  where  he 
could  reach  the  ignorant  and  needy  more  effec 
tively,  but  they  argued  that  he  had  better  leave 
to  the  politicians  all  suggestions  tending  to  disturb 
the  existing  industrial  order. 

Mr.  Prentiss  sometimes  sighed  over  these  limi 
tations,  but  he  had  become  used  to  them,  and  in  a 
measure,  with  advancing  years,  he  had,  in  his  en 
deavor  to  be  a  man  of  the  world  in  order  to  remain 
a  more  useful  Christian,  accepted  the  doctrine  that 
he  had  no  plan  to  substitute  for  the  present  eco- 

100 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 


nomic  system,  and  that  he  must  make  the  best  of 
the  existing  situation.  So,  in  practical,  daily  life, 
he  exhorted  the  rich  to  give  their  money  and  them 
selves  to  the  advancement  of  their  fellow  men,  and 
the  poor  to  shun  vice  and  bear  their  privations 
with  patience,  while  he  held  forth  the  promise  of 
the  church  of  an  existence  hereafter  for  the  pure 
in  heart  where  all  the  seeming  inconsistencies  of 
this  mortal  life  would  be  explained  and  justified. 
Not  being  endowed  with  much  sense  of  humor, 
Mr.  Prentiss,  as  he  waxed  in  years,  and  St.  Ste 
phen's  became  the  fashionable  church  of  the  city, 
had  found  less  and  less  difficulty  in  accommodating 
himself  to  this  point  of  view,  and  in  devoting  all 
his  ardor  to  reclaiming  souls  for  Christ.  After 
all,  was  not  his  mission  to  help  men  and  women  as 
he  found  them?  First  of  all  to  minister  to  their 
souls,  and  in  the  name  of  Christianity  to  lift  them 
from  the  slough  of  human  suffering  and  misfortune 
that  he  might  expound  to  them  the  loving  mercies 
of  the  Lord?  The  things  of  the  earth  were  not 
the  things  of  the  spirit,  and  he  was  more  tenacious 
than  in  his  youth  of  the  prerogatives  of  the  church 
as  an  institution  controlling  human  consciences  by 
standards  of  its  own,  founded  on  the  teachings  of 
the  Prince  of  Peace.  Nevertheless,  being  reason 
ably  clear-headed  and  fearless,  he  was  not  without 
the  suspicion  at  times  that  this  reasoning  was  mys 
tical,  and  in  the  face  of  facts  he  had  every  now 
and  then  his  unpleasant  quarters  of  an  hour. 

This  was  one  of  them  to-night.  His  hostess, 
when  the  dinner  was  over,  had  left  him  to  a  cigar 
and  his  own  devices  in  the  library.  He  was  to 
join  her  presently  and  be  shown  her  daughter's 

101 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

wedding  presents.  He  had  been  invited  to 
dine  in  order  that  he  might  see  them,  but  Mrs. 
Wilson  and  he  both  knew  that  this  was  an 
excuse  for  a  quiet  evening  together  in  which 
they  might  compare  notes  concerning  their  mutual 
interests.  Reaching  out  to  knock  off  the  ash  of 
his  cigar  into  a  dainty  porcelain  wheelbarrow,  he 
noticed  a  new  photograph  on  the  mantel-piece  and 
rose  to  examine  it.  He  recognized  it  as  one  of 
Clarence  Waldo,  the  New  Yorker  to  whom  Miss 
Lucille  Wilson  was  betrothed.  The  sight  of  this 
young  man's  countenance  did  not  serve  to  restore 
Mr.  Prentiss's  serenity.  On  the  contrary,  he  stood 
gazing  at  the  photograph  with  an  expression  which 
suggested  that  his  soul  was  still  perturbed.  The 
face  was  that  of  a  man  of  twenty-seven  or  eight 
with  delicate  features — thin  lips,  a  long  nose  and 
an  indefinable  haughtiness  of  expression  which  was 
made  up  of  weariness  and  disdain.  He  had  large 
eyes  which  lacked  lustre,  and  his  sparse  hair  gave 
the  effect  of  having  been  carefully  brushed.  The 
clergyman  had  met  him  only  a  few  times,  and  Mr. 
Prentiss  had  never  forgotten  the  first  occasion, 
which  was  at  Lucille's  coming-out  ball  three  years 
before.  He  had  happened  to  find  himself  in  Mr. 
Waldo's  path  when  the  young  man  was  in  the  act 
of  carrying  everything  before  him  with  a  plate 
of  salad  for  his  partner,  and  he  had  never  forgot 
ten  the  cold  impertinence  of  the  New  Yorker's 
stare.  Paul  Howard,  Lucille's  cousin,  who  wit 
nessed  the  encounter,  said  afterward  that  Clarence 
had  given  Mr.  Prentiss  the  dead  eye,  which  was 
a  telling  description  of  the  stoniness  of  the  fashion 
able  New  Yorker's  gaze.  Mr.  Prentiss  had  never 

102 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

heard  this  diagnosis,  but  he  had  remembered  the 
episode.  He  regarded  it,  however,  merely  as  ad 
ditional  evidence  of  the  lack  of  reverence  on  the 
part  of  the  young  men  of  the  day — and  the  young 
women,  too,  for  the  matter  of  that — not  merely 
for  sacred  things,  but  for  everything  and  every 
body  which  were  in  their  way  or  did  not  happen 
to  appeal  to  their  fancy.  But  though  he  consid 
ered  this  absence  of  social  politeness  as  one  of  the 
cardinal  failings  of  the  age,  his  present  thoughts 
regarding  Lucille's  future  husband  were  not  con 
cerned  with  it. 

Since  the  engagement  had  been  announced  four 
months  ago  he  had  been  making  inquiries,  and  the 
information  wThich  he  had  received  was  in  his  mind 
and  troubled  his  soul  as  a  corollary  of  the  other 
problems  which  had  just  been  haunting  him.  It 
was  not  of  a  character  to  justify  him  in  forbidding 
the  bans — not  even  in  remonstrating  with  Mrs. 
Wilson,  unless  she  were  to  ask  his  advice  or  pro 
vide  him  with  an  opportunity.  But  he  deplored 
sincerely  that  this  young  man  was  to  marry  his 
friend's  daughter.  Was  this  to  be  the  outcome, 
the  crowning  of  the  wealth  of  love  and  solicitude 
which  had  been  lavished  on  this  only  child — a  child 
brought  up  in  his  church?  Was  it  for  this  that 
Lucille  had  been  made  the  central  figure  of  costly 
entertainments  for  the  last  three  years,  in  the  hope 
that  she  might  make  a  brilliant  match?  Decidedly, 
it  was  a  puzzling  world,  and  circumstances  seemed 
to  be  conspiring  to  cloud  his  horizon  and  disturb 
his  digestion  at  a  time  when  he  ought  to  be  en 
joying  himself  and  taking  his  ease. 

"What  does  he  offer  her?"  he  said  to  himself. 
103 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Twelve  months  of  sporting  life — American 
sporting  life.  A  superb  stable,  a  four-in-hand 
coach  and  steam  yacht,  polo,  golf,  the  horse  show, 
cards,  six  months  every  third  year  in  Europe,  their 
summers  at  Newport,  their  winters  at  Palm  Beach. 
The  fortune  which  she  will  bring  him  will  enable 
them  to  live  in  the  lap  of  luxury  all  the  year  round, 
and  he  will  teach  her  to  regard  those  who  are  not 
rich  and  who  do  not  imitate  their  manner  of  life 
as  beneath  their  notice.  I  know  the  kind — I  know 
the  kind." 

Soft  footsteps  interrupted  his  mental  soliloquy. 
"No,  thank  you,"  he  exclaimed  in  a  tone  which 
was  almost  militant  to  the  waiters  who  approached 
him  with  a  tray.  Mr.  Prentiss  supposed  that 
another  form  of  stimulant  was  being  offered  him, 
for  Madeira,  liqueurs  and  coffee  had  been  succes 
sively  brought  in  and  solemnly  presented  to  him 
by  the  two  men  servants,  one  of  whom  seemed  to 
him  as  superfluous  as  a  plumber's  helper.  Then 
as  his  gaze,  which  had  been  inward,  appreciated 
that  the  silver  gilt  tumbler  contained  apollinaris 
water,  he  called  them  back  and  emptied  the  glass. 
He  had  finished  his  cigar  and  it  was  time  to  rejoin 
his  hostess. 


104 


VIII 

MR.  PRENTISS  continued  his  monologue  on 
his  way  to  the  drawing-room.  He  imag 
ined  himself  saying  to  Mrs.  Wilson,  "You  know 
that  I  believe  in  toleration,  and  that  I  would  not 
set  or  preach  an  ascetic  standard  of  life.  I  believe 
— my  church  believes — that  it  is  not  profitable  to 
the  human  soul  to  mortify  the  flesh  in  every-day 
life  or  refuse  to  enjoy  the  comforts  of  civilization. 
But  the  set  of  people  to  which  this  young  man  be 
longs  are  cumberers  of  the  soil  and  a  menace  to 
society.  It  is  not  merely  a  question  of  taste,  but 
of  Christian  morals.  We  have  nothing  to  do  with 
other  nations;  our  concern  is  with  the  social  life 
of  this  nation  and  whether  we  are  to  foster  and 
encourage  a  pleasure-loving,  self-indulgent,  and 
purposeless  leisure  class." 

Yet  though  his  thoughts  thus  shaped  themselves 
in  fervent  words,  he  was  conscious  that  in  the  ab 
sence  of  a  cue  his  lips  must  remain  sealed.  There 
was  a  limit  imposed  by  society  on  the  priestly  office 
which  he  could  not  overstep  without  appearing 
officious,  and  thus  weakening  his  influence.  Were 
it  a  case  of  notorious  dissipation  or  some  palpable 
fault  or  blemish,  it  would  be  his  duty  to  speak. 
But  he  had  no  such  data  at  his  command.  Clar 
ence  Waldo  was  simply  a  fastidious  idler,  preten 
tious,  and  indifferent  to  the  vital  interests  of  life. 

105 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

It  could  not  even  be  charged  that  he  was  marrying 
Lucille  for  her  money,  as  he  had  a  competency  of 
his  own.  They  would  be  able  to  buy  all  the  dogs 
and  horses  in  the  country  if  they  saw  fit.  But  his 
own  tongue  was  tied.  To  all  appearances  Mrs. 
Wilson  was  content.  At  the  time  she  had  an 
nounced  her  daughter's  engagement  to  him,  she 
had  said,  in  response  to  his  earnest  inquiry  if  she 
were  satisfied — said  it  with  a  blithe  smile,  as 
though,  on  the  whole,  the  best  had  happened — "I 
should  have  been  glad  of  course,  if  Lucille  had 
chosen  a  man  of  conspicuous  talent,  a  future  Uni 
ted  States  Senator  or  successful  artist  or  author. 
If  she  had  loved  her  lord,  I  should  not  have  ob 
jected  to  a  title,  because,  after  all,  even  to  a  free- 
born  American,  there  is  a  certain  compensation  in 
becoming  the  mother  of  dukes  and  regenerating 
an  ancient  line.  But  Clarence  is  well  connected, 
and  the  child  is  in  love  with  him.  So  long  as  she 
is  happy,  that  is  the  essential  thing." 

Since  then  he  had  become  better  informed  as 
to  the  young  man's  tendencies.  But  if  Lucille  was 
in  love  with  him,  and  her  mother  acquiescent,  what 
was  there  to  do?  The  church  could  not  interfere 
beyond  a  certain  point  without  giving  offence. 

Mrs.  Wilson  was  not  in  the  drawing-room,  but 
Mr.  Prentiss  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  at  her  desk 
in  a  smaller  room  which  led  out  of  it.  She  called 
to  him  that  she  was  answering  a  note  and  would 
join  him  presently.  The  clergyman  seated  himself 
and  picking  up  from  a  low  teak  table  beside  him 
a  paper-cutter  fashioned  on  a  Japanese  sword  hilt 
he  compressed  his  fingers  on  the  handle  as  an  out 
let  to  his  perplexity.  Had  he  been  walking  in  the 

106 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

fields,  he  would  have  cut  off  the  heads  of  the  dande 
lions  with  his  cane.  Marriage  was  a  sacrament, 
the  most  solemn  undertaking  in  life,  yet  how  im 
possible  it  was  to  regulate  matrimony  for  others. 
He  glanced  around  the  room  admiringly.  Already 
the  musical  notes  of  his  hostess's  voice  had  served 
to  dissipate  partially  the  miasma  of  doubt  which 
had  been  assailing  him.  This  main  apartment  was 
one  of  a  series  of  drawing-rooms,  each  furnished 
with  an  exquisite  magnificence  suggestive  of  the 
salons  of  France  in  the  days  of  Louis  XIV,  save 
that  there  was  a  superabundance  of  artistic  furnish 
ings;  hence  the  sight  was  confused  by  the  array 
of  costly  tapestries,  marbles,  bronzes,  china, 
and  gilt  or  otherwise  illuminated  ornaments  which 
almost  contended  for  space  with  one  another, 
though  the  rooms  were  of  large  proportions.  One 
feature  of  Benham's  renaissance  was  the  ambition 
to  outdo  the  past  in  size  and  gorgeousness,  but 
Mrs.  Wilson's  advisers  had  been  animated  also  by 
the  desire  for  artistic  success,  and  it  was  only  in 
its  wealth  of  material  that  their  and  her — for  she 
had  been  the  leading  spirit  after  all — performance 
was  open  to  criticism.  Here  in  Benham,  where 
twenty  years  before  the  horse-hair  sofa  was  still 
an  object  of  admiring  regard  in  the  homes  of  the 
well-to-do,  the  desert  had  blossomed  with  the  rose, 
and  a  veritable  palace  had  been  established.  And, 
as  Mr.  Prentiss  reflected,  joining  his  finger-tips 
across  his  waist-band,  all  this  lavish  expenditure 
meant  the  return  by  the  rich  of  accumulated  wealth 
into  circulation  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  labored 
for  their  bread,  which  was  another  of  Mr.  Carle- 
ton  Howard's  telling  truths. 

107 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

The  swift,  animated,  but  noiseless  glide  of  Mrs. 
Wilson  into  the  room  and  onto  a  sofa,  from  which 
she  flashed  at  him  a  gracious,  electric  look  of  atten 
tion  with  the  words,  "And  now,  my  friend,  I  am 
entirely  at  your  disposal.  It  was  a  note  which  had 
to  be  answered  at  once" — restored  Mr.  Prentiss's 
serenity.  She  was  one  of  those  pleasant  persons 
in  whose  presence  the  world  seems  justified.  When 
she  entered  a  room  people  were  apt  to  pay  tribute 
by  a  pause  in  whatever  they  were  doing,  and  she 
became  the  focus  of  attention.  The  effect  of  her 
graceful  energy  was  largely  responsible  for  this, 
suggesting  the  forceful  but  silent  sweep  of  a  ship. 
She  had  lost  the  figure  and  the  countenance  of 
youth,  but  though  her  abundant  crinkly  hair  was 
grizzled  no  one  ever  thought  of  her  age  except  to 
observe  that  she  was  handsomer  than  as  a  younger 
woman.  She  had  never  been  a  beauty;  she  was 
now  a  distinguished  looking,  comely,  and  effective 
matron.  She  was  tall  and  rather  willowy,  but  not 
thin,  with  a  proud,  resolutely  carried  head,  an 
agreeable  straight  nose,  short  rather  than  long  (her 
best  feature),  a  spirited,  sympathetic  smile,  eyes 
fundamentally  gray,  which  changed  as  her 
thoughts  changed,  and  ingratiating  but  elegant 
manners.  Her  face,  notably  the  cheeks  and  lips, 
was  a  trifle  full,  suggesting  dimples,  and  possibly 
to  the  critical  a  too-manifest  desire  to  please.  Her 
obvious  pose — which,  though  deliberate  was  en 
tirely  genuine — was  to  be  exquisite,  sympathetic, 
and  intellectual,  and  for  the  expression  of  this 
range  of  qualities  she  had  serviceable  allies  in  her 
musical  voice,  a  bewitching  way  of  showing  just 
enough  of  her  teeth,  when  she  became  vivacious, 

108 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

and  her  ornamental  clothes,  which  always  suited 
her.  On  this  evening  she  wore  an  old-gold  gown 
with  jet  and  lace  accompaniments,  an  aigrette  of 
crimson  gauze  with  which  the  plumage  of  her  fan 
was  in  harmony,  a  band  of  magnificent  pearls 
around  her  neck,  and  on  her  breast,  though  such 
ornaments  were  not  strictly  in  fashion,  a  large 
brooch  of  fine  workmanship  containing  a  miniature 
of  two  children  of  tender  age.  Of  these  children 
one  had  died  shortly  after  the  miniature  was 
painted,  the  other  was  her  daughter  Lucille.  Her 
soul  was  dedicated  to  two  interests,  her  joy  and 
ambition  as  a  mother,  and  to  the  cause  of  social 
human  progress. 

Mrs.  Wilson  had  been  for  fifteen  years  a 
widow,  and,  though  her  husband  held  a  hallowed 
place  in  her  heart,  even  she  was  conscious  that  the 
broad  scope  of  her  present  life  dated  from  the 
period  when,  seeking  a  refuge  from  her  own  grief 
and  loneliness,  she  had  welcomed  diverse  social 
employment.  Her  husband,  Randolph,  a  hero 
and  a  colonel  of  the  Civil  War,  had  claimed  her 
on  his  return  as  a  bride.  They  were  ardent  lovers, 
and  they  had  never  ceased  to  be  so,  certainly  not 
in  theory.  Some  of  Mrs.  Wilson's  knowing  friends 
were  fond  of  insinuating,  when  the  humor  for  gos 
sip  prevailed,  that  he  had  died  just  in  time,  which 
was  their  way  of  intimating  that  she  had  outgrown 
him.  But  these  dissectors  of  hearts  did  not  per 
haps  sufficiently  remember  that  her  own  blossom 
ing  forth  into  the  woman  she  now  was  had  been 
subsequent  to  her  husband's  death.  Nor  did  they 
take  sufficiently  into  account  the  bewildering  course 
of  events  which  had  attended  her  progress.  Colo- 

109 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

nel  Wilson,  a  man  of  small  means  at  the  time  of 
their  marriage,  had  become  her  brother's  partner. 
The  properties  in  which  he  was  interested  at  the 
time  of  his  death  had  subsequently  proved  so  val 
uable  that  she  had  found  herself  presently  the  pos 
sessor  of  a  million,  a  sum  which  had  quadrupled 
in  the  keeping  of  her  brother,  Carleton  Howard, 
one  of  the  most  powerful  financiers  in  the  country. 
Opportunity  surely  had  waited  on  her  widening 
aspirations,  enabling  her  finally  to  establish  her 
self  in  this  magnificent  home  surrounded  by  all  the 
aesthetic  attractions  and  many  of  the  treasures  of 
modern  civilization. 

Probably  Mrs.  Wilson  herself  had  never  sought 
to  analyze  the  past  by  the  light  of  the  present, 
realizing,  as  we  all  do,  that  life  unbeknown  to  us 
has  halting-places  which  become,  as  we  look  back, 
the  dividing  lines  between  what  are  almost  sepa 
rate  existences.  Though  at  her  husband's  death 
she  had  made  no  resolutions  regarding  the  future, 
she  had  never  felt  the  impulse  to  marry  again,  so 
engrossing  were  the  concerns  of  motherhood  and 
social  responsibility. 

"You  spoke  at  dinner  of  wishing  my  assistance 
in  some  case  in  which  you  are  interested.  Will  you 
tell  me  about  it  now  before  we  look  at  the  pres 
ents?"  Mrs.  Wilson  continued  with  smiling  in 
terest. 

"Ah,  yes."  Mr.  Prentiss  was  glad  to  have  this 
recalled  to  his  mind.  There  was  no  chance  here 
for  doubt  or  perplexity.  "It  is  rather  out  of  the 
usual  run  of  charity  cases.  The  personality  of  the 
woman,  I  mean.  The  circumstance  that  her  hus 
band  has  run  away  and  left  her  penniless,  with  two 

no 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

young    children    to    support    is,    alas !    only    too 


common." 


"Poor  thing!     How  can  I  be  of  service?" 

"The  woman — her  name  is  Mrs.  Stuart — not 
withstanding  her  disastrous  marriage,  seems  to  me 
distinctly  superior.  She  came  to  Benham  some  six 
or  seven  years  ago,  and  I  knew  her  a  little  at  St. 
Stephen's  before  she  was  a  wife.  Indeed,  I  mar 
ried  them,  and  made  some  inquiries  at  the  time  con 
cerning  the  husband's  circumstances,  but  learned 
nothing  to  his  discredit.  She  has  found  him  to  be  a 
godless,  unscrupulous  person  with  drinking  habits, 
and  recently  he  has  deserted  her  on  the  grandiose 
plea  that  they  would  be  happier  apart.  She  will 
be  happier;  I  am  sure  of  that;  but  I  have  been 
exercised  as  to  how  to  enable  her  to  become  self- 
supporting.  She  is  called  to  higher  usefulness  than 
scrubbing  or  plain  sewing,  but  though  I  have  dis 
cerned  in  her  capabilities  and  refinement,  she  is  not 
at  present  equipped  for  any  active  employment." 

"Which  only  tends  to  show,  my  friend,  that 
every  woman" — Mrs.  Wilson  paused  an  instant — 
"every  woman  who  has  not  independent  means  of 
her  own,  I  mean,  should  be  educated  to  be  self- 
supporting — should  have  some  definite  bread-win 
ning  occupation  which  would  render  her  indepen 
dent  of  the  man  she  marries  in  case  he  dies  or 
misbehaves.  I  was  thinking  the  other  day  that  a 
society  formed  to  advocate  this  doctrine  before 
clubs  of  girls  as  a  condition  of  marriage  would 
prove  efficacious." 

Mr.  Prentiss  nodded.  "It  is  certainly  the  duty 
of  Christian  society  to  provide  additional  safe 
guards  against  the  consequences  of  improvident 

in 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

wedlock.  In  this  particular  instance,  the  young 
woman  plighted  her  troth  while  she  was  studying 
to  become  a  kindergarten  teacher.  She  was  a 
country  doctor's  daughter,  and  is  gentle  and  re 
fined,  as  well  as  intelligent  in  appearance — one  of 
those  lithe,  tense  American  personalities  in  which 
the  spirit  appears  to  burn  at  the  expense  of  the 
body,  but  which,  like  the  willow,  bend  but  do  not 
break  under  the  stress  of  life." 

"She  sounds  interesting,  and  I  do  not  see  that 
she  has  been  to  blame.  We  must  raise  a  fund  for 
her.  With  how  large  a  subscription  shall  I  head 
the  list?"  Though  Mrs.  Wilson  gave  freely  on 
merely  charitable  grounds,  she  gave  with  more  en 
thusiasm  when  the  objects  of  her  bounty  had  not 
offended  her  sense  of  the  social  fitness  of  things. 

The  clergyman  put  out  his  hand.  "That 
wouldn't  do  exactly,  I  think.  She  is  not  too  proud 
to  let  us  help  her  for  a  few  weeks  with  coal  and 
groceries  until  she  can  earn  for  herself.  She  real 
izes  that  she  must  be  sensible,  if  only  for  the  chil 
dren's  sake.  She  has  an  independent  simplicity  of 
nature  and  clearness  of  perception  which  would 
stand  in  the  way,  I  fear,  of  her  accepting  a  dona 
tion  such  as  you  have  in  mind;  though  I  should 
dearly  love  to  allow  you  to  pay  off  the  encum 
brances  on  their  house,  which,  owing  to  her  hus 
band's  rascalities  have  eaten  up  her  little  home — 
her  patrimony.  But  I  am  sure  she  would  refuse/' 

"I  see.  We  should  think  less  of  her  if  she 
allowed  herself  to  be  pauperized,  much  as  I  should 
enjoy  giving  her  a  deed  of  her  home  free  and  clear 
— the  mere  thought  of  it  causes  me  a  thrill  of 
pleasure.  But  the  worst  of  such  tragedies  is  that 

112 


• 
THE    UNDERCURRENT 

we  are  most  powerless  to  aid  those  who  are  most 
deserving."  Mrs.  Wilson  leaned  back  among  her 
cushions,  and,  drawing  a  pale  pink  rose  from  a 
bunch  in  a  vase  at  her  elbow,  laid  it  along  her 
cheek  and  inhaled  its  fragrance.  "If  she  were  an 
undiscerning,  common  spirit  with  workaday  sensi 
bilities,  as  so  many  of  them  are,  she  would  not  re 
fuse,  but — half  the  pleasure  of  giving  would  be 
lost.  It  is  a  privilege  and  the  fashion  to  be  char 
itable,  but  so  much  of  our  charity  consists  in  filling 
the  mouths  and  clothing  the  bodies  of  the  wretched 
who  will  never  be  appreciably  different  or  strive 
to  be  different  from  what  they  are." 

"The  poor  we  have  always  with  us,"  murmured 
the  clergyman. 

"Always.  The  shiftless,  dirty,  unaspiring,  un- 
!assthetic  poor.  The  dregs  and  lees  of  human  en 
deavor.  We  must  feed  and  clothe  them,  of  course, 
and  help  them  to  help  themselves,  but  sometimes 
•I  forget  the  pathos  of  it  all  in  the  ugliness  and 
squalor.  Consequently,  when  the  chance  to  do 
real  good  comes,  it  is  a  pity  not  to  be  able  to  lift 
the  burden  completely.  What,  then,  can  I  do  for 
this  young  person?" 

"I  have  thought  over  her  case  for  the  last  forty- 
eight  hours,  and  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that, 
as  she  has  no  special  training,  her  best  chance  for 
employment  is  to  learn  short-hand  and  to  use  the 
typewriter.  I  understand  that  women  proficient  in 
this  vocation  can  usually  secure  steady  work  at  a 
fair  wage.  Though  Mrs.  Stuart  would  be  unwill 
ing  to  accept  a  direct  gift  of  money,  I  feel  confi 
dent  that  she  would  not  refuse  to  let  us  put  her  in 
the  position  to  become  self-supporting — that  is, 


9 

THE    UNDERCURRENT 

defray  the  cost  of  the  lessons  necessary  to  make 
her  a  competent  stenographer  or  office  clerk.  And 
I  thought  you  might  be  glad  to  pay  for  these  les 
sons — a  matter  of  six  months  or  so." 

Mr.  Prentiss  had  taken  up  the  paper-cutter 
again,  and  he  passed  the  flat  of  the  metal  blade 
across  his  palm  as  though  he  were  smoothing  out 
his  plan  as  well  as  the  creases. 

"Gladly,"  she  responded.  "For  as  long  as  you 
desire.  And,  perhaps,  when  she  has  learned  what 
is  necessary,  my  brother  may  know  of  some  open 
ing  for  her  down-town." 

"Very  likely,"  answered  Mr.  Prentiss,  with  res 
onant  acquiescence.  "The  same  thought  had  oc 
curred  to  me." 

"And,  in  the  meantime,  since  you  tell  me  that 
she  is  competent  and  refined,  my  secretary,  who 
will  have  her  hands  full  with  the  details  of  the 
wedding,  may  be  able  to  give  her  occasional  er 
rands  to  do.  You  may  tell  her  to  call  when  her 
plans  are  adjusted  and  to  ask  for  me." 

"Excellent.  And  we  shall  both  be  your  debtors." 

Mrs.  Wilson  smiled  graciously,  showing  the 
dimples  in  her  cheeks.  The  demands  made  upon 
her  for  pecuniary  aid  were  of  daily,  it  might  be 
said  hourly,  occurrence.  Whoever  in  Benham  was 
in  search  of  money  applied  to  her,  and  the  post 
brought  her  solicitations  from  all  sorts  of  people, 
among  whom  were  the  undeserving  or  importunate, 
as  well  as  the  needy  or  humanitarian.  As  lady 
bountiful,  she  purposed  to  exercise  intelligent  dis 
crimination  in  her  charities,  and  she  accepted 
thanks  as  a  tribute  to  that  quality. 

"Come,"  she  said,  rising,  "I  will  show  you  the 
114 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

presents.  Only  think,  four  hundred  of  them,  and 
so  many  beautiful  things !  People  have  been  so 
kind.  Several  of  my  brother's  friends  in  New 
York  have  sent  most  exquisite  tokens — a  necklace 
of  diamonds  and  pearls  from  Mr.  Fenton  the 
banker,  a  gold  dessert  service  from  his  railroad 
ally,  Mr.  Kennard." 

She  led  the  way  from  the  drawing-room  suite 
into  the  hall,  where  electricity  in  artistic  guises  illu 
minated  the  broad  panellings,  a  splendid  Teniers 
and  three  or  four  bronze  or  marble  statuaries  of 
rare  merit,  and  up  the  stair-case  to  the  next  floor 
into  what  was  known  as  the  morning-room — an 
apartment  where  Mrs.  Wilson  conducted  her  af 
fairs  and  did  her  reading  and  thinking.  This  was 
a  combination  of  study  and  aesthetic  boudoir. 
There  were  seductive  sofas  and  quaint  capacious 
chairs  supplied  with  brightly  colored  cushions,  and 
dainty  draperies,  all  in  silken  stuffs  of  patterns 
reminiscent  of  the  Orient.  Art,  in  its  most  delicate 
and  spiritual  forms,  breathed  from  every  object  of 
furniture  or  decoration ;  from  the  small  pictures — 
some  in  oils,  some  in  water-colors — which  merited 
and  often  demanded  the  closest  scrutiny;  from  the 
few  vases  of  entrancing  shape  and  hue,  from  the 
interesting  photographs  in  beautiful  frames,  from 
the  curious  and  rare  memorials  of  travel  and  wise 
choice  of  what  cunning  fingers  had  wrought  with 
infinite  labor.  As  in  the  rest  of  the  house,  there 
was  still  too  much  wealth  of  material,  too  much 
scintillation  and  conglomeration  of  color,  but 
the  intent  had  been — and  not  without  success — 
to  produce  a  more  subtle  atmosphere  than  pre 
vailed  outside,  as  of  an  inner  temple.  Prominent 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

in  one  angle  stood  Mrs.  Wilson's  desk,  rose-wood, 
inlaid  with  poetic  gilt  tracery,  and  littered  with 
the  correspondence  of  a  busy  woman.  Books  and 
other  articles  of  daily  use  lying  here  and  there 
without  effort  at  order  gave  to  the  room  the  air  of 
being  the  intimate  abode  of  a  human  soul.  Open 
ing  out  of  this  was  a  private  music-room,  which  was 
used  by  Mrs.  Wilson  and  her  daughter  in  prefer 
ence  to  the  large  music-room  on  the  street  floor 
intended  for  musical  parties  and  dances.  Here 
were  the  wedding  presents,  a  dazzling  array  of 
gold,  silver,  jewels,  glass,  china,  and  ornamental 
knick-knacks,  tastefully  arranged  on  tables  intro 
duced  for  the  purpose.  As  they  entered  an  attend 
ant  withdrew  into  the  hall. 

"We  have  thought  it  more  prudent  to  have  a 
watchman  on  guard  by  night  and  day,"  explained 
Mrs.  Wilson;  "for  I  suppose  it  is  true,  as  one  of 
those  ridiculous  newspaper  items  asserts,  that  these 
gifts  represent  at  least  one  hundred  thousand  dol 
lars.  By  the  way,"  she  continued,  with  a  gentle 
sigh,  "it  is  so  difficult  to  know  what  attitude  to 
adopt  with  the  newspaper  people.  If  one  refuses 
them  the  house,  their  sensibilities  are  hurt  and  they 
are  liable  to  invent  falsehoods  or  write  disagree 
able  paragraphs.  If  they  are  allowed  to  inspect 
everything,  they  publish  details  which  make  one's 
heart  sick,  and  make  one  appear  a  vain  fool.  How 
is  a  person  in  my  position  to  be  courteous  toward 
the  power  of  the  press  and  yet  to  maintain  the 
right  to  privacy?  Is  not  this  superb?"  she  added, 
holding  up  a  crest  of  diamonds  in  the  form  of  a 
tiara.  "My  brother's  present  to  Lucille." 

"Beautiful — beautiful,  indeed,"  murmured  the 
116 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

clergyman.  The  sight  of  all  these  costly  things 
was  bewildering  to  his  mind  as  well  as  to  his  eyes. 
uAh,  the  press — the  press,  it  is  a  problem,  indeed. 
We  would  seem  to  have  the  right  to  individual 
privacy,  would  we  not?  And  yet  in  this  age  of 
ours,  pressure  is  so  often  used  upon  us  to  thrust 
our  wares  into  the  shop-windows — as  in  my  case, 
sermons  for  newspapers  of  the  most  sensational 
class — on  the  plea  of  a  wider  usefulness,  a  closer 
touch  with  the  wilderness  of  souls,  that  it  is  diffi 
cult  to  know  where  the  rights  of  the  public  end  as 
to  what  one  has.  What  would  seem  to  be  vanity 
may  often  be  only  another  form  of  philanthropy. 
And  yet " 

"And  yet,"  interposed  Mrs.  Wilson,  as  she  sin 
gled  out  an  enchanting  fan  of  gold  and  ivory  and 
the  most  exquisite  lace  and  spread  it  for  his  inspec 
tion,  "why  should  I  pander  to  the  vulgar  curiosity 
of  the  public?  It  is  none  of  their  business." 

"In  a  matter  of  this  kind  I  quite  agree  with  you. 
If  they  could  see  all  these  beautiful  things,  there 
might  be  some  sense  in  it;  but  that  would  be  out 
of  the  question,  of  course." 

"That  will  be  the  next  step;  our  houses  thrown 
open  to  the  madding  crowd.  Six  newspapers — 
two  from  New  York — applied  recently  for  leave 
to  see  the  presents.  I  intended  to  refuse  firmly, 
but  to  my  astonishment  Lucille  seemed  disap 
pointed.  It  never  occurred  to  me  that  she  would 
not  hate  the  publicity.  She  gave  a  little  shriek 
and  said,  'Mamma,  how  dreadful !'  and  then  added 
in  the  next  breath,  'Everybody  does  it,  and,  as 
something  is  sure  to  be  printed,  might  it  not  be 
better  to  make  certain  that  it's  correct?'  A  day 

117 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

or  two  later  she  was  photographed  in  her  tiara, 
and  from  what  has  transpired  since  I  fear  that  the 
idea  of  publicity  was  not  foreign  to  her  thought. 
My  child,  Mr.  Prentiss !  Only  think  of  it !  One 
can  never  quite  understand  the  point  of  view  of 
the  rising  generation.  I  consulted  Carleton,  and 
he  grew  successively  irate,  contemplative,  philo 
sophical,  and  weak-kneed.  In  short,  a  week  ago 
a  reportorial  woman,  with  the  social  appetite  of  a 
hyena  and  the  keen-eyed  industry  of  a  ferret,  passed 
the  forenoon  in  the  house  and  went  away  with  a 
photograph  of  Lucille  in  the  tiara.  And  what  is 
worst  of  all,  in  spite  of  my  humiliation  at  the 
whole  proceeding,  I  am  decidedly  curious  to  see 
what  she  has  written." 

The  sound  of  voices  in  the  morning-room  broke 
in  upon  this  confession.  "Ah,  here  you  are,  Aunt 
Miriam !  I  have  brought  you  an  artistic  master 
piece  with  a  felicitous  biography  of  the  distin 
guished  heroine.  Behold  and  admire!" 

The  speaker  was  Paul  Howard,  Mrs.  Wilson's 
nephew.  He  advanced  from  the  doorway  with 
radiant,  teasing  face,  holding  out  a  newspaper  at 
which  he  pointed  delightedly.  At  his  heels  fol 
lowed  Lucille  and  Clarence  Waldo,  she  protesting, 
yet  betraying  by  her  laughing  confusion  that  her 
indignation  was  half-hearted;  he  stalking  with  self- 
important  gravity  save  for  a  thin  smile,  the  limit 
of  his  deliberate  contributions  to  the  gayety  of 
nations  unless  under  the  influence  of  alcoholic  con 
viviality.  At  men's  gatherings  there  was  a  stage 
in  the  proceedings  when  Clarence  Waldo  became 
decorously  mellow  and  condescended — indeed,  ex 
pected  to  be  asked — to  sing  one  of  three  or  four 

118 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

quasi-humorous  ditties  at  his  command,  a  function 
which  he  seemed  to  regard  as  an  important  social 
contribution  and  for  which  he  practised  in  secret. 
Also,  after  luncheon  or  dinner,  he  was  liable  to 
lay  down  the  law  in  loud  tones  in  regard  to  current 
sporting  affairs.     But  his  habitual  manner  was  lan 
guid  and  his  expression  cold,  as  though  he  feared 
to  compromise  himself  by  interest  or  enthusiasm. 
He  was  very  tall.     In  the  centre  of  his  crown  was 
a  bald  spot.      He   stooped  slightly,    and,   except 
among  his  intimates,  looked  straight  before  him 
lest  he  might  see  someone  whom  he  did  not  wish 
to  know.     In  the  rear  of  this  family  party  came 
arleton  Howard,  stepping  firmly  yet  deliberately, 
he  always  did,  as  though  he  walked  abreast  of 
"ime,  not  tagging  at  her  skirts  like  so  many  of  his 
ontemporaries — a  fine  figure  of  a  man  approach- 
g  sixty,  with  a  large  body,  but  not  corpulent,  a 
)road  brow,  a  strong,  defiant  nose,  iron-gray  hair 
nd  a  closely  cut  iron-gray  mustache,  clear,  fear- 
ess,  yet  reflective  eyes,  and  a  mouth  the  pleasant 
nsion  of  which  indicated  both  determination  and 
ct.     He  was  smoking  a  cigar,  and  had  come  in 
:rom  his  own  library  to  enjoy  the  bearding  of  his 
ster  by  the  young  people. 


119 


IX 

BEFORE  Mrs.  Wilson  could  ascertain  what  it 
was,  Lucille  made  a  dash  at  the  newspaper. 
Paul  thrust  it  behind  his  back. 

"Give  it  to  me,  Paul,"  demanded  the  young 
woman,  imperiously.  "I  order  you  to  give  it  to 
me,"  she  reiterated,  tapping  her  foot.  "You  are 
a  hateful  tease." 

"Surely,  my  fair  cousin,  you're  not  going  to 
deprive  your  mother  of  the  satisfaction  of  gazing 
on  this  work  of  art,  and  reading  this  appreciative 
description  of  your  personal  charms?  Can  you 
not  see  how  impatient  she  is  to  have  it  all  to  her 
self?" 

"You  have  certainly  whetted  my  curiosity, 
Paul,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"I  forbid  you  to  show  it  to  her." 

"Why?" 

"It  is  too  ridiculous  and  foolish,  and  the  pict 
ure — "  Her  criticism  on  that  score  instead  of 
seeking  words  culminated  in  another  spring,  which 
Paul  evaded  by  wheeling  spryly  about  so  that  he 
still  faced  her. 

Paul  Howard  was  an  ornamental,  attractive 
specimen  of  athletic,  optimistic  American  youth;  a 
fine  animal  of  manly,  well-knit  proportions  with  no 
sign  of  physical  weakness  or  of  effeminacy  in  his 
person  or  his  face.  His  countenance  was  open  and 
ruddy;  his  eyes  clear  blue,  his  hair  light  brown. 

120 


Give  it  to  me,   Paul/'  demanded  the  young  woman  imperiously 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

His  lip  was  scrupulously  clean-shaven,  exposing 
the  full,  pleasant  strength  of  his  father's  mouth. 
Indeed,  in  conformity  with  the  prevailing  fashion 
among  his  contemporaries,  he  wore  neither  mus 
tache,  beard,  nor  whiskers,  as  though  in  immacu 
late  protest  against  every  style  of  hirsute  ornamen 
tation,  from  the  goat-like  beard  of  Methodistical 
statesmanship  to  the  spruce  mustache  and  well- 
trimmed  whiskers  of  men  of  the  world  of  fifteen 
years  earlier.  He  was  a  Harvard  graduate;  he 
had  been  on  the  foot-ball  team,  and  a  leading 
spirit  in  the  social  life  of  the  college;  had  been 
around  the  globe  since  graduation,  and  spent 
nearly  a  year  shooting  big  game  in  the  Rockies 
and  getting  near  to  nature,  as  he  called  it,  by  liv 
ing  on  a  ranch.  All  this  as  preliminary  to  taking 
advantage  of  the  golden  spoon  which  was  in  his 
mouth  at  his  birth.  At  twenty-three  he  had  signi 
fied  that  he  was  ready  to  buckle  down  to  the  re 
sponsibilities  of  guarding  and  increasing  the  family 
possessions,  an  announcement  delighting  his 
father's  heart,  who  had  feared,  perhaps,  lest  his 
only  son  might  conclude  to  become  merely  a  club 
man  or  a  poet.  This  was  the  fourth  year  of  his 
novitiate,  much  of  which  had  been  spent  in  New 
York,  where  Mr.  Howard,  though  his  home  was 
in  Benham,  had  established  a  branch  of  his  bank 
ing-house,  at  the  head  of  which  he  intended  pres 
ently  to  place  Paul.  On  the  young  man's  twenty- 
fifth  birthday  the  magnate  had  made  him  a 
present  of  a  million  dollars  so  as  to  put  him  on  his 
feet  and  permit  him  to  support  a  wife.  If  this 
were  a  hint,  Paul  had  taken  it.  Though  absorbed 
in  financial  undertakings  of  magnitude  (which 

121 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

had  included  the  electric  street-car  combination 
hostile  to  the  aspirations  of  Emil  Stuart),  he  had 
wooed  and  wed  one  of  the  prettiest  girls  in  Ben- 
ham,  and  he  possessed,  not  many  blocks  away,  a 
stately  establishment  of  his  own.  He  was  accus 
tomed  to  walk  hand  in  hand  with  prosperity,  and 
this  habit  was  reflected  in  the  gay  and  slightly 
self-satisfied  quality  of  his  manliness. 

After  foiling  his  cousin  for  a  few  moments, 
with  a  tantalizing  smile,  a  new  idea  occurred  to 
him.  He  held  out  the  newspaper,  saying,  "Very 
well  then,  here  it  is.  I  dare  you,  Lucille,  to  de 
stroy  it.  Nothing  would  induce  you  to  part 
with  it." 

Lucille  snatched  the  sheet  from  his  hand,  and 
her  ruffled  hesitation  indicated  that  to  destroy  it 
was  the  last  thing  she  had  intended.  In  another 
instant  she  tore  the  newspaper  into  strips  with  an 
air  of  disdain  and  cast  them  on  the  floor.  De 
lighted  at  the  success  of  his  taunt,  Paul  stooped 
and  gathering  the  fragments  began  to  piece  them 
together. 

"That  is  only  a  blind.  She  knows  she  can  buy 
a  dozen  copies  to-morrow.  Listen,  Aunt  Miriam, 
to  this  gem  which  I  have  rescued :  'The  fair  bride 
has  a  complexion  of  cream  of  alabaster,  with 
beautiful  almond-shaped  eyes,  and  hair  of  black 
lustre,  which,  rising  from  her  forehead  in  queenly 
bands,  seems  the  natural  throne  of  the  glittering 
diadem  in  the  picture,  one  of  her  choicest  bridal 
gifts.'  Could  anything  be  more  exquisite  and 
fetching?"  He  gave  a  laugh  which  was  almost 
a  whoop  of  exultation. 

"No  matter,  Lucille,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  com- 

122 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ing  to  her  daughter's  rescue.  "It  is  only  envy  on 
Paul's  part.  The  newspapers  did  not  make  half 
so  much  of  his  wedding."  In  her  own  heart  she 
did  not  approve  of  the  publicity,  but  the  sense  of 
importance  which  it  conveyed  was  not  without  its 
effect  even  on  her.  Besides,  the  personal  descrip 
tion,  though  florid  in  style,  was  to  her  maternal 
eyes  not  an  exaggerated  estimate  of  her  daughter's 
charms. 

"The  writer  was  evidently  under  the  spell  of 
her  subject,"  said  Mr.  Prentiss,  gallantly. 
Though  tolerant  of  banter,  especially  at  clerical 
gatherings,  and  partial  to  Paul  Howard  as  one 
of  the  young  men  whom  he  desired  to  draw  into 
closer  union  with  the  church,  the  idea  of  the  possi 
bilities  of  the  newspaper  as  a  dispenser  of  benefits 
was  still  in  his  mind,  and  served  to  minimize  the 
vanity,  if  any,  of  his  friend's  daughter. 

"Quite  naturally,  Mr.  Prentiss,"  retorted  the 
tormenting  Paul,  "for  the  subject  gave  a  private 
audience  to  the  writer  only  a  few  days  ago." 

Paul  spoke  from  the  desire  to  tease,  not  because 
he  objected  actively  to  the  connivance  of  his  cousin 
with  the  designs  of  the  press.  If  the  opportunity 
to  do  away  with  the  whole  practice  of  prying  into 
and  advertising  private  social  matters  had  been 
presented  to  him,  he  would  gladly  have  embraced 
it,  and  welcomed  at  the  same  time  the  further  op 
portunity  to  tar  and  feather  or  duck  the  race  of 
social  reporters.  But  as  an  astute  and  easy-going 
American  he  recognized  the  prevalence  of  the 
habit,  and  though  personally  he  tried  to  dodge 
with  good  humor  the  impertinent  inquiries  of  press 
agents,  he  was  not  disposed  to  censure  those  who 

123 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

yielded  to  their  importunities.  Indeed,  Paul 
Howard  was  so  bubbling  over  with  health  pros 
perity,  and  a  generally  roseate  conception  of  life 
as  he  saw  it,  that  he  shrank  from  active  criticism 
of  existing  social  conditions.  He  was  a  strong 
patriot,  and  it  pleased  him  to  believe  that  Ameri 
cans  were  world-conquerors  and  world-teachers. 
Hence  that  it  was  the  part  of  good  Americans  to 
join  hands  all  round  and,  avoiding  nice  strictures, 
to  put  their  shoulders  to  the  wheel  of  progress. 

"How  absurd  you  are,  Paul,"  answered  Lucille. 
"That  woman  badgered  me  with  questions,  and 
was  positively  pathetic  into  the  bargain,  for  she 
confided  to  me  that  she  hated  the  whole  business, 
but  that  her  bread  and  butter  depended  on  it.  She 
was  certain  to  write  something,  and  so  rather 
than  have  everything  wrong,  I  told  her  a  few 
things." 

"And  gave  her  your  photograph  in  the  tiara." 

"She  asked  for  it.  She  saw  it  lying  on  the 
table.  Wasn't  that  better  than  to  be  caricatured 
by  some  snap-shot  with  a  camera?" 

The  dire  results  of  what  would  have  ensued  had 
she  been  less  accommodating  seemed  so  convincing 
to  Lucille  as  she  recited  them  that  her  tone  changed 
from  defence  to  conviction. 

"I  know  a  woman,"  said  Clarence  Waldo, 
"who  told  her  servants  not  to  let  any  of  those 
newspaper  beggars  inside  the  house,  and  what  do 
you  suppose  happened?  On  the  day  of  the  wed 
ding  there  appeared  an  insulting  account  of  the 
affair  with  everything  turned  topsy-turvy  and  dis 
paraging  remarks  about  both  families.  It's  an 
awful  bore,  but  when  people  of  our  sort  are  mar- 

124 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ried  the  public  doesn't  like  to  be  kept  in  the  dark, 
you  know." 

"There!  You  see!"  exclaimed  Lucille,  tri 
umphantly. 

The  description  of  this  young  lady  which  her 
cousin  had  read  was  fundamentally  correct.  Her 
eyes  could  scarcely  be  called  almond-shaped,  but 
their  curves  were  more  gradual  than  those  of 
most  American  women,  a  feature  which,  in  con 
junction  with  her  thin  lips  and  thin,  pointed  nose, 
gave  to  her  countenance  an  expression  of  fas 
tidiousness,  which  was  characteristic.  She  was  an 
example  of  the  so-called  Gibson  girl,  with  a  tall 
and  springy,  yet  slight,  figure,  and  a  race-horse  air 
which  suggested  both  mettle  and  disdain.  She 
had  been  brought  up  on  the  theory  of  free  devel 
opment — a  theory  for  which  not  her  mother  but 
the  tendency  of  the  day  was  responsible.  Parents, 
when  it  comes  to  a  choice  in  educational  methods, 
are  apt  at  heart  to  recognize  their  own  personal 
ignorance,  and  those  with  the  highest  aims  for 
their  offspring  are  most  likely  to  adopt  the  newest 
fashionable  graft  on  human  experience.  We  are 
perpetually  on  the  look-out  for  discoveries  which 
will  enable  our  children  to  become  the  bright  par 
ticular  stars  which  we  are  not.  So  what  more 
natural  than  that  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  her  ardent 
bent  for  improving  social  conditions,  should  swal 
low — hook,  bait,  and  sinker — the  theory  that  the 
budding  intelligence  should  be  cajoled  and  hu 
mored,  not  thwarted  and  coerced?  The  idea  thus 
pursued  at  kindergarten,  that  everything  should 
be  made  easy  and  agreeable  for  the  infant  mind, 
had  been  steadily  adhered  to,  and  Lucille  could 

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THE    UNDERCURRENT 

fairly  be  said  to  have  had  her  own  way  all  her 
life.  This  own  way  had  been  at  times  bewilder 
ing,  not  to  say  disheartening,  to  her  mother.  Mrs. 
Wilson  had  expected  and  yearned  for  a  soulful, 
aspiring,  poetic  daughter  with  an  ambition  for 
culture — herself,  but  reincarnated  and  much  im 
proved.  Instead,  Lucille  had  showed  herself  to 
be  utterly  indifferent  to  poetry,  lukewarm  in  re 
gard  to  culture,  almost  matter  of  fact  in  her  men 
tal  attitude,  and  sedulously  enamoured  of  athletic 
pursuits.  She  had  a  fancy  for  dogs.  From  fifteen 
to  eighteen  she  had  followed  golf,  tennis,  and 
boating,  hatless  and  with  her  sleeves  rolled  up  to 
her  elbows,  a  free  and  easy  and  rather  mannerless 
maiden,  Amazon-like  in  her  bearing,  but  unlike 
an  Amazon  in  that  she  was  a  jolly  companion  to 
the  boys,  who  called  her  promiscuously  by  her 
Christian  name,  as  she  did  them  by  theirs.  Does 
such  a  process  of  familiarity  dull  the  edge  of  ro 
mance?  We  do  not  yet  know.  Each  rising  gen 
eration  provides  new  problems  for  the  wise  elders, 
and  this  was  one  of  those  which  had  kept  Mrs. 
Wilson  uneasy. 

She  had  looked  forward  to  Lucille's  formal 
introduction  to  society  as  a  social  corrective,  and 
argued  that,  as  soon  as  her  daughter  met  the 
world  face  to  face,  there  would  be  a  modification 
both  of  Lucille's  tastes  and  point  of  view.  So 
strong  is  the  emphasis  laid  by  American  mothers 
in  fashionable  society  on  what  is  called  "the  com 
ing  out"  of  their  daughters  that  the  concern  en 
gendered  by  the  approach  of  the  ordeal  could  fitly 
be  described  as  a  phase  of  hysteria.  The  true  per 
spective  of  life  becomes  utterly  and  absurdly  dis- 

126 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

torted  by  apprehension  lest  the  dear  child  should 
not  have  "a  good  time"  and  by  a  fierce  ambition 
that  she  should  have  a  better  "time"  than  her 
mates.  As  a  consequence,  competition — that  ab 
sorbing  passion  of  American  character — is  prone 
to  take  advantage  of  all  the  opportunities  at  its 
command,  not  merely  to  decorate  the  unprepos 
sessing  or  provide  the  duck  with  the  environment 
of  the  swan,  but  to  make  princesses  out  of  goose 
girls  by  sheer  gorgeous  manifestations  of  the 
power  of  the  almighty  dollar.  We  all  know  that 
every  woman  in  the  world  would  prefer  at  heart 
to  be  called  wicked  rather  than  common,  unless 
she  were  common — one  of  those  extraordinary  re 
sults  of  the  tyranny  of  the  social  instinct  which 
plays  havoc  with  religious  codes;  and  there  is 
probably  no  country  where  the  most  socially  adept 
are  more  intolerant  of  commonness  than  in  dem 
ocratic  America — a  fact  which  should  be  discon 
certing  to  that  form  of  socialism  which  yearns  for 
a  dead-level.  Yet  the  tendency  to  exploit  one's 
daughters  by  means  of  money  and  to  exploit  them 
even  with  barbaric  splendor  is  current  among  our 
most  socially  sophisticated  people. 

Mr.  Carleton  Howard's  "coming-out"  ball  for 
his  niece  was  the  most  splendid  function  which 
Benham  had  ever  known,  and  for  the  next  three 
years  Lucille's  life  had  been  one  round  of  social 
gayety,  emphasized  by  the  character  of  the  things 
done  in  her  behalf  by  her  family,  which  were  sev 
erally  executed,  if  not  conceived,  in  a  spirit  of 
emulation,  though  Mrs.  Wilson  would  doubtless 
have  resented  the  impeachment.  Mrs.  Wilson 
would  have  put  the  blame  on  the  tendency  of  the 

127 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

age,  arguing  that  American  society  was  becoming 
more  and  more  exacting  in  its  aesthetic  demands, 
and  that  one  must  conform  to  existing  usage  in 
order  to  lead.  But  an  examination  of  the  facts 
would  reveal  that  whatever  form  of  entertainment 
was  given  by  her  for  Lucille,  as,  for  instance,  the 
four  colored  luncheons,  when  the  food  and  the 
table  ornaments  were  successively  red,  orange, 
blue,  and  heliotrope,  and  four  sets  of  twelve 
young  girls  stuffed  themselves  through  eight 
courses  at  mid-day,  was  carried  out  with  a  lavish 
accentuation  of  new  and  costly  effects.  It  was  cur 
rently  recognized  that  at  her  house  the  cotillion 
favors  and  the  prizes  at  games  were  worth  having 
— silver  ornaments,  pretty  fans,  things  of  price — 
always  a  step  beyond  the  last  fashion,  as  though 
the  world  would  not  be  content  to  stand  still,  but 
must  be  kept  moving  by  more  and  more  expensive 
social  novelties. 

Though  three  years  of  this  life  had  served  to 
transform  the  mannerless  Amazon  into  a  socially 
correct  and  fastidious  young  woman,  the  result, 
nevertheless,  was  a  secret  disappointment  to  her 
mother,  who  had  hoped  that  Lucille  would  de 
velop  intellectual  or  aesthetic  tastes  under  the  influ 
ence  of  these  many  advantages.  But  what  can  a 
mother  whose  daughter  prefers  athletics  to  art, 
and  fox  terriers  to  philanthropy,  do  but  make  the 
best  of  it?  Lucille  had  a  will  of  her  own  and 
seemed  to  know  exactly  what  she  wished,  which 
included  marrying  Clarence  Waldo.  To  thwart 
her  would  be  useless,  to  quarrel  with  her  was  out 
of  the  question.  The  only  thing  was  to  give  her 
as  brilliant  a  wedding  as  possible  and  hope  for 

128 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

the  best.  And  after  all,  the  best  was  by  no  means 
out  of  the  question.  Lucille  was  young  and  was 
going  to  New  York.  There  was  no  telling  what 
a  girl  of  twenty-one,  with  large  means  and  the 
best  social  opportunities,  might  not  become  by  the 
time  she  was  thirty-five.  Mrs.  Wilson  had  herself 
cast  sheep's  eyes  at  New  York  as  a  residence  be 
fore  building  her  new  house,  but  she  had  decided 
to  remain  dominant  in  a  small  puddle.  There 
were  compensations  in  doing  so.  She  flattered  her 
self  that  in  this  age  of  telephones  and  telepathy 
she  was  able  to  keep  in  touch  with  the  metropolis 
and  to  get  her  social  cues  accordingly.  But  to 
have  a  daughter  there  would  be  interesting,  pro 
vided  all  went  well.  The  proviso  should  not  be 
overlooked;  for  Mrs.  Wilson  had  not  lowered  her 
own  standards.  She  was  merely  trying  to  extract 
all  the  maternal  comfort  and  pride  she  could  out 
of  the  existing  situation. 

"But,  my  dear  Lucille,"  said  Paul,  intending  a 
crushing  blow  to  his  cousin's  returning  assurance, 
"if  you  were  really  so  anxious  to  escape  notoriety, 
you  had  merely  to  mention  it  to  father.  A  word 
from  him  would  have  silenced  every  newspaper  in 
town." 

"Scarcely  that — scarcely  that,  young  man,"  in 
terposed  Mr.  Howard  in  a  tone  of  friendly 
authority.  "Very  possibly,  had  I  expressed  a 
preference,  my  wishes  would  have  been  respected 
by  one  or  two  newspapers  where  I  happen  to  have 
some  influence.  But  your  statement  is  altogether 
too  sweeping."  He  spoke  incisively,  as  though  he 
desired  to  deprecate  the  suggestion  of  the  power 
attributed  to  him  by  his  more  impulsive  son.  "The 

129 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

press  is  jealous  of  its  privileges  and  must  be  hu 
mored  as  a  popular  institution.  And,  after  all, 
what  does  a  little  publicity  matter?  You  mustn't 
mind  what  Paul  says,  Lucille.  There's  no  reason 
to  feel  abashed  because  the  public  has  been  given 
a  chance  to  see  the  most  charming  bride  of  the 
year." 

"Abashed?  She  is  tickled  to  death,"  retorted 
Paul. 

Mr.  Howard  put  his  arm  around  his  niece's 
shoulder  in  the  guise  of  a  champion.  When  con 
troversy  had  reached  the  stage  where  adjustment 
was  no  longer  possible,  he  was  an  uncompromising 
antagonist.  But,  as  a  successful  man  content  with 
existing  conditions,  he  deplored  friction  in  all  the 
relations  of  life,  and  to  use  an  industrial  phrase, 
liked  to  see  everything  running  smoothly.  He 
laughed  incredulously,  and  patting  Lucille's  arm 
exclaimed,  "Nonsense!"  Then,  accosting  the 
clergyman,  he  added,  "Now  that  this  momentous 
matter  has  been  disposed  of,  Mr.  Prentiss,  will 
you  join  me  in  a  cigar  in  my  own  library?" 

Mr.  Prentiss  excused  himself.  He  had  work 
to  do,  and  knew  that  if  he  remained  he  would  be 
apt  to  stay  late.  But  he  was  interested  from  a 
theoretic  stand-point  in  the  discussion  to  which  he 
had  been  listening. 

"You  evidently  feel  as  I  do,  Mr.  Howard," 
he  said,  "that  there  are  two  sides  to  the  question  of 
newspaper  publicity,  and  that  as  good  citizens  we 
are  not  always  at  liberty  to  insist  on  privacy." 

Mr.  Howard  answered  with  the  suave  force 
and  clearness  which  gave  to  all  his  utterances  the 
effect  of  deliberate  conviction.  "Mr.  Prentiss,  I 

130 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

accept  the  institutions  of  my  country  as  I  find 
them,  and  try  to  make  the  best  of  them.  There 
are  those  whose  only  pleasure  seems  to  be  to  carp 
at  what  they  do  not  wholly  admire  in  our  civic  sys 
tem.  The  press  is  one  of  the  most  powerful  and 
useful  forces  of  modern  life.  As  such  I  value  and 
support  it,  though  I'm  keenly  alive  to  the  flagrant 
evils  and  the  cruel  vulgarities  for  which  it  is  daily 
responsible.  But  one  can't  afford  as  an  American 
citizen  to  condemn  as  worthless  and  ill-begotten 
the  things  of  which  the  people  as  a  whole  approve. 
We  must  compromise  here  as  in  so  many  matters 
sin  our  complex  civilization,  and  where  trifles  are 
concerned,  be  complacent  even  against  our  con 


victions." 


"Indisputably,"  said  the  clergyman.  "In  the 
constant  faith  that  our  tolerance  will  work  for 
mprovement." 

"Ah,  but  the  newspapers  are  worse  than  ever," 
xclaimed  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  a  sigh.  "One  has  to 
wade  through  so  much  for  so  little.  I  read  them 
crupulously,  because,  if  I  do  not,  I'm  sure  to  miss 
omething  which  I  would  like  to  see.  That  sounds 
nconsistent.  But  why  doesn't  somebody  establish 
really  first-class  newspaper?" 

"Because  a  newspaper  must  be  first  of  all  a 
successful  business  enterprise  in  order  to  be  able 
o  exist,"  responded  her  brother.  "It  is  a  ques 
tion  of  dollars  and  cents.  All  that  will  come  pres 
ently.  And  we  are  really  improving  all  the  time. 
Just  think  of  what  a  large  and  complicated  indus 
try  a  modern  newspaper  establishment  has  grown 
to  be."  He  spoke  as  though  he  saw  and  wished 
to  bring  before  his  hearers'  eyes  the  towering, 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

mammoth  homes  of  the  press  in  all  our  large 
cities,  the  enforced  outcome  of  the  ever-increasing 
popular  demand  for  the  world's  news.  "Come, 
Paul,"  he  said,  putting  his  arm  through  his  son's, 
"since  Mr.  Prentiss  will  not  join  us  in  a  cigar  we 
will  leave  these  good  people  to  their  own  devices, 
and  go  back  to  our  work." 

Paul,  with  a  pocket  full  of  documents  and  with 
the  obnoxious  newspaper  in  his  hand,  had  reached 
the  door  of  his  father's  house  just  as  Lucille  and 
her  betrothed  were  alighting  from  a  carriage. 
Lured  by  his  goading  remarks  they  had  followed 
him  within  and  into  his  father's  library,  where  at 
a  safe  distance  he  had  vouchsafed  his  cousin 
glimpses  of  her  tiara-crowned  figure  and  read 
aloud  choice  extracts  until  the  spirit  had  moved 
him  to  pass  through  the  dividing  door  between  the 
two  establishments  in  search  of  his  aunt.  He  had 
left  home  with  the  idea  of  an  hour's  confabulation 
with  his  father  over  certain  schemes  in  which  they 
were  jointly  interested — a  frequent  habit  of  his 
late  in  the  evening.  Mr.  Carleton  Howard  never 
went  to  bed  before  one,  and  was  invariably  to  be 
found  after  eleven  in  his  library  reading  or  cogitat 
ing,  and  always  prepared  at  that  quiet  time  to  give 
his  keenest  intelligence  to  the  issues  presented  to 
him. 

Father  and  son  passed  along  through  the  secret 
passageway  until  they  found  themselves  in  Mr. 
Howard's  capacious  library.  This  superb  room 
was  the  result  of  an  architect's  conscientious  am 
bition  to  see  what  could  be  accomplished  where 
his  client  was  obviously  willing  to  obtain  excellence 
and  had  imposed  on  him  no  limits  either  in  re- 

132 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 


spect  to  space  or  expense.  As  regards  size,  it 
bore  the  same  relation  to  the  ordinary  library  of 
the  civilized  citizen  that  the  Auditorium  in  Chi 
cago  bears  to  every-day  hotels,  or  the  steamship 
Great  Eastern  bore  to  other  ocean  carriers.  Con 
sequently  it  was  a  little  vast  for  strict  cosiness. 
The  huge  stamped  leather  chairs  and  sofas,  though 
inviting,  seemed  designed  for  persons  of  ele 
phantine  figure,  in  order  perhaps  to  avoid  being 
dwarfed.  But  the  shelves  upon  shelves  of  books 
which  covered  completely  from  floor  to  ceiling 
two  of  the  walls — choice  editions  in  fine  bindings 
— gained  dignity  from  the  superfluous  dimensions. 
If  it  be  said  in  this  connection  that,  to  one  familiar 
with  Mr.  Howard's  associations,  the  idea  of  many 
storied  office  buildings  might  occur,  the  answer  is 
(that  he  was  responsible  for  nothing  which  the  room 
contained  except  its  large  and  admirable  display 
| of  etchings,  which,  owing  to  almost  weekly  accre 
tions,  had  begun  to  disarrange  the  original  aesthetic 
(scheme  of  the  designer.  Mr.  Howard  had  left 
[everything  else  to  his  architect,  but  etchings  were 
his  hobby — one  which  had  attracted  his  fancy 
{years  before  by  accident,  and  had  retained  its  hold 
jUpon  him.  He  was  familiar  nowT,  as  a  man  of 
jsagacity  and  method,  with  the  many  bibliograph- 
lical  and  ethnological  treasures  by  which  he  was 
Isurrounded,  and  could  exhibit  them  becomingly, 
[but  when  the  conversation  turned  on  the  etcher's 
art  he  was  on  firm  ground  and  could  talk  as  clearly 
and  authoritatively  as  about  his  railroads. 

The  banker  chose  his  favorite  seat,  within  com 
fortable  distance  of  one  of  the  fire-places,  facing 
a  beautiful  polar  bear-skin  rug  of  extraordinary 

133 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

size.  Close  at  hand  was  a  large  table  with  writ 
ing  materials  and  such  magazine  literature  or  doc 
uments  as  he  might  wish  to  examine.  Adjustable 
lights  were  at  either  elbow,  and  in  the  direct  line  of 
his  vision  as  he  ordinarily  sat  were  two  of  his 
favorite  works  of  art,  an  Albert  Diirer  and  a 
Wenceslaus  Hollar.  He  lighted  another  cigar 
and,  after  a  few  puffs,  said: 

"That  clergyman  is  decidedly  a  useful  man.  He 
has  common  sense  and  he  has  discretion." 

"He  isn't  at  all  a  bad  sort,"  responded  Paul. 
Though  guarded  in  form,  this  was  intended  as 
an  encomium,  just  as  when  Paul  meant  that  he  had 
enjoyed  himself  thoroughly,  he  was  apt  to  state 
that  he  had  had  a  pretty  good  time.  Anglo-Saxon 
youth  is  proverbially  shy  of  enthusiasm  of  the  lips 
lest  it  be  suspected  of  freshness,  as  the  current 
phrase  is.  "I  wonder,"  he  added  a  moment  later 
as  he  stood  with  his  back  to  the  wood  fire,  straight 
ening  his  sturdy  shoulders  against  the  mantel-piece, 
"if  he  really  believes  all  the  things  he  preaches. 
I'd  just  like  to  know  for  curiosity.  I  suppose  he 
has  to  preach  them  even  if  he  doesn't  or  else  be 
fired  out,  and  he  compromises  with  himself  for 
the  mental  reservation  by  the  argument  that  if  he 
v/ere  out  of  it  altogether,  his  usefulness  and  occu 
pation,  like  Othello's,  would  be  gone.  That's  the 
way  clergymen  must  have  to  argue  nowadays,  or 
there  wouldn't  be  many  of  them  left  at  the  old 
stands." 

Though  he  spoke  colloquially,  and  with  an  as 
surance  which  dispensed  with  reverence  of  treat 
ment,  Paul  intended  to  express  genuine  interest  and 
even  sympathy.  Knowing  that  his  father's  ideas 

134 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

on  religious  subjects  were  fundamentally  liberal, 
perhaps  he  was  not  averse  to  shocking  him  in  a 
mere  matter  of  form.  Mr.  Howard  was  silent  a 
moment,  then  replied : 

"In  every  walk  of  life  it  is  necessary,  from  time 
to  time,  to  sacrifice  non-essentials  for  the  sake  of 
the  essentials.  As  in  everything  else,  so  in  relig 
ion.  The  world  moves ;  opinions  change.  Human 
society  cannot  prosper  without  religion,  and  human 
society  never  needed  its  influence  more  than  to-day. 
Sensible  religion,  of  course." 

"All  sensible  men  have  the  same  religion.  What 
is  that?  A  sensible  man  never  tells."  Paul  was 
quoting.  He  had  heard  his  father  more  than  once 
in  his  comments  on  the  mysteries  of  life  utter  this 
Delphic  observation.  He  laughed  sweetly  and 
fearlessly. 

Mr.  Howard  understood  his  son.  They  were 
good  comrades.  He  was  aware  that  though  Paul 
felt  free  to  jest  at  his  remarks,  his  boy  respected 
his  intellect  and  would  ponder  what  he  said. 

"We  agree  about  these  things  in  the  main,  my 
dear  Paul.  If  one  were  to  go  out  on  the  house 
tops  and  proclaim  one's  scepticism  concerning 
some  of  the  supernatural  dogmas  which  the  mass 
of  the  people  find  comfort  in,  how  would  it  benefit 
religion?  The  world  will  find  out  soon  enough 
that  it  has  been  mistaken.  But  we  can  neither  of 
us  afford  to  forget  that  the  security  of  human 
society  is  dependent  on  religion.  One  always 
comes  back  to  that  in  the  end." 

"It  is  good  for  the  masses,"  said  Paul,  with  a 
chuckle.  "We,  as  the  present  lords  of  creation — 
captains  of  industry — should  encourage  it  for  the 

135 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

protection  of  our  railroads,  mines,  and  other  glo 
rious  monopolies.  That  is  one  of  the  arguments 
with  which  the  truly  great  salved  their  consciences 
before  the  French  revolution." 

Mr.  Howard  frowned  slightly.  He  knew  that 
Paul  was  only  half  in  earnest,  but  the  reference 
to  socialism  was  repellent  to  him,  even  though  it 
was  rhetorical.  Why  was  he  the  possessor  of 
twenty  millions?  Because  he  had  been  wiser  and 
more  long-sighted  than  his  competitors,  because  he 
had  used  his  clear  brains  to  better  advantage  than 
other  men  year  after  year,  planning  boldly  and 
executing  thoroughly,  making  few  mistakes  and 
taking  advantage  of  every  opportunity.  Because 
he  had  fostered  his  powers,  and  controlled  his 
weaknesses.  He  was  rich  because,  like  a  true 
American,  he  had  conquered  circumstances  and 
moulded  them  for  his  own  and  the  world's  profit. 
Inequalities?  Must  there  not  always  be  inequal 
ities  so  long  as  some  men  were  strong  and  others 
weak,  some  courageous  and  others  shiftless?  And 
as  for  charity,  God  knew  he  was  willing  to  do — 
was  trying  to  do  his  part  to  help  those  who  could 
not  or  would  not  help  themselves,  and  to  encour 
age  all  meritorious  undertakings  for  the  relief  of 
human  society. 

"Yes,  we  must  humor  the  masses  in  this  as  in 
a  thousand  matters,  and  our  protection  is  their 
protection.  I  am  not  disturbed  by  your  insinua 
tion,  Paul.  Ignorance  and  sloth  and  folly  and 
false  sentiment  would  bankrupt  mankind  in  three 
generations  if  it  were  not  for  the  modern  captains 
of  industry,  as  you  call  them." 

Mr.  Howard  spoke  somewhat  sternly,  as  one 

136 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

stating  a  proposition  which  was  irrefutable  and 
yet  was  sometimes  overlooked  by  an  ungrate 
ful  world.  "Similarly,"  he  continued,  "it  is  one 
thing  to  be  unorthodox  in  one's  opinions  and  to 
discard  as  childish  articles  of  faith  to  which  the 
multitude  adhere,  another  to  deny  the  reality  and 
force  of  religion.  So,  though  I  am  a  free  thinker, 
if  you  will,  I  regard  it  as  no  inconsistency  to  up 
hold  the  hands  of  the  church.  On  the  contrary, 
every  thoughtful  man  must  realize  that  without 
religion  of  some  sort  the  human  race  would  become 
brutes  again. " 

"And  your  form  is  to  present  fifty  or  a  hun 
dred  thousand  to  a  hospital  or  a  college  whenever 
you  happen  to  feel  like  it,  which  every  clergyman 
will  admit  to  be  practical  Christianity.  You  cer 
tainly  give  away  barrels  of  money,  father." 

"I  can  afford  to."  Mr.  Howard  was  pleasantly 
but  not  vain-gloriously  aware  that  he  had  given 
away  a  million  dollars  in  the  last  three  years.  "In 
what  better  way  can  I  share  my  profits  with  the 
public  than  by  entrusting  it  to  trained  educators 
and  philanthropists  to  spend  for  the  common 
good?  A  great  improvement,  young  man,  on  the 
theory  that  every  man  jack  of  us  should  be  lim 
ited  to  the  same  wage,  and  originality,  grit,  and 
enterprise  be  pushed  off  the  face  of  the  earth." 

"Nevertheless  it  is  tolerably  pleasant  to  be  your 
son,"  said  Paul,  smiling  brightly  from  his  post 
igainst  the  mantel-piece. 

"Yes.  But  you  have  responsibilities  as  my  son, 
and  pray  do  not  imagine  that  I  am  blind  to  them. 
I  have  made  the  money."  He  paused  a  mo 
ment,  for  he  was  looking  back  along  the  vista  of 

137 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

the  years  and  recalling  the  succession  of  shrewd 
undertakings  by  which  his  property  had  grown 
from  a  few  thousand  dollars  to  imposing  wealth. 
"I  have  made  the  money,  and  it  is  for  you  to  keep 
and  increase  it — yes,  increase  it,  remember — but 
to  spend  it  freely  and  wisely.  And  if  you  ask  me 
what  is  wisely,  I  can  only  answer  that  this  is  a  prob 
lem  for  your  generation.  If  you  will  only  use  the 
same  pains  in  trying  to  solve  it  as  I  have  in  ac 
cumulating  the  money,  you  will  succeed.  You  are 
fond,  Paul,  of  exploiting  radical  propositions,  of 
which  you  at  heart  disapprove,  in  order  to  test  my 
self-control.  Here  is  something,  young  man,  to 
chasten  your  spirit  and  keep  your  imagination 
busy." 

"You  see  through  me,  father,  don't  you?  But 
you'll  admit  that  my  familiarity  with  radical  doc 
trines  is  a  good  sign,  especially  since  I  recognize 
their  fallacies,  for  it  shows  that  I  sometimes  think. 
Yes,  it  is  a  great  responsibility,  but  I  wouldn't  ex 
change — not  even  with  Gordon  Perry." 

"With  whom?  Ah,  yes,  I  remember;  the  at 
torney  who  was  on  the  foot-ball  team  with  you  at 
Harvard.  And  why  should  you  consider  chang 
ing  places  with  him?" 

"Because  the  mere  question  of  dollars  and  cents 
interests  him  so  little." 

"Ah!  You  have  been  employing  him  lately,  I 
believe?" 

"Yes.  I  like  to  throw  what  I  can  in  his  way. 
He  understands  his  business.  We  lunched  to 
gether  this  morning.  I  enjoy  his  humor,  his  in 
dependence  and  his  common  sense,  and  at  the  same 
time  his  enthusiasm." 

138 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Concerning  what?" 

"Most  things  except  the  price  of  railroad  shares 
and  the  condition  of  the  money  market.  We 
didn't  refer  to  them  once."  Paul  paused  with  a 
serio-comic  sigh.  Mr.  Howard  knocked  the  white 
ash  from  his  cigar  and  responded : 

"One  of  the  reasons  for  sending  you  to  college 
was  that  you  need  not  be  confined  in  your  conver 
sation  to  the  money  market.  Another  that  you 
should  be  free  in  life  to  do  as  you  chose." 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  father.  You  know  well 
enough  that  nothing  would  induce  me  not  to  fol 
low  your  lead.  Give  up  business?  I  couldn't.  I 
love  the  power  and  excitement  of  it.  It's  bred  in 
the  bone,  I  suppose." 

The  banker's  eyes  kindled  with  pride  in  the  son 
of  his  heart. 

"And  it's  because  I  know  I'm  myself  that  a 
fellow  like  Don  Perry  fascinates  me,"  pursued 
Paul.  "There's  no  nonsense  in  him.  He  objects 
to  cranks  and  mere  psalm-singers  as  much  as  I  do. 
But  he's  absorbed  in  the  social  problems  of  the 
day  —  legislative  questions,  philanthropic  ques 
tions,  all  the  burning  questions.  'And  your  young 
men  shall  see  visions.'  He  is  one  of  them.  You 
will  notice  that  I  have  not  forgotten  my  Bible 
altogether,  father." 

"We  have,  and  to  burn,  reformers  who  see 
visions  and  proclaim  them  from  platforms  which 
have  no  underpinnings.  What  we  need  are  re 
formers  who  will  study  and  think  before  they 
speak,  and  not  seek  to  destroy  the  existing  structure 
of  society  before  they  have  provided  a  serviceable 
substitute." 

139 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"In  other  words,  you  are  prepared  to  part  with 
a  portion  of  your  worldly  possessions,  but  you 
object  to  wholesale  confiscation?"  Having  in 
dulged  in  this  pleasantry  Paul  took  from  the  table 
a  packet  of  papers  which  he  had  brought  with 
him,  as  though  to  show  that  he  had  not  forgot 
ten  business  concerns.  "Speaking  of  the  existing 
structure  of  society,"  he  continued,  "Don  and  I 
got  into  a  religious  discussion.  That  is,  I  found 
myself  holding  a  brief  for  the  proposition,  which 
I  had  read  somewhere  or  other,  that  religion  and 
capital  are  in  alliance  against  every-day  men  and 
women,  in  order  to  preserve  existing  social  condi 
tions.  Don't  look  so  shocked,  father.  There  are 
two  sides  to  every  question,  and  I  was  curious  to 
see  how  Don  would  look  at  this." 

"And  how  did  he  look  at  it?"  inquired  Mr. 
Howard,  coldly,  seeing  that  he  was  expected  to 
display  interest. 

"He  wouldn't  deny  that  there  was  some  truth 
in  the  proposition,  but  he  agreed  with  you,  father, 
that  whatever  else  is  true  or  false,  the  world  will 
never  be  able  to  dispense  with  religion.  But  he 
says,  too,  that  it  must  be  sensible  religion.  Just 
what  you  said,  isn't  it?  And  when  two  such  intel 
ligent  individuals  come  to  the  same  conclusion,  it 
is  time  for  a  sceptic  like  myself  to  take  off  his  hat 
to  the  church.  You  heard  me  just  now  concede 
that  the  Rev.  Mr.  Prentiss  is  not  at  all  a  bad 
lot." 

"Paul,  you  are  sometimes  incorrigible.  You 
have  common  sense  when  it  comes  to  action,  I 
admit,  but  you  have  a  perverse  fondness  for  har 
boring  all  the  philosophical  sewage  of  the  age.  I 

140 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

trust  that  your  friend  Perry  brought  you  up  with 
a  round  turn." 

"Oh,  he  did,"  said  Paul,  with  mock  meekness, 
as  he  sorted  his  documents.  "We  must  get  to 
work  or  else  I'd  tell  you  about  it.  He  was  very 
interesting.  As  to  aggregations  of  capital,  Don 
was  highly  conservative  too.  He  recognizes  that 
they  will  last  far  beyond  our  time.  For  a  seeker 
after  ultimate  truth,  I  thought  that  extremely  rea 
sonable."  Whereupon  Paul  indulged  in  a  laugh 
of  bubbling,  melodious  mirth. 

Mr.  Howard  made  no  comment,  but  threw  the 
butt  of  his  cigar  into  the  fire-place  with  the  em 
phasis  of  one  expelling  folly  by  the  scruff  of  the 
neck,  and  composed  his  features  for  business. 


141 


X 


/CONSTANCE  consented  to  be  taught  type- 
>-'  writing  and  stenography  at  the  expense  of 
Mrs.  Randolph  Wilson.  She  decided  that  to  re 
fuse  an  offer  which  would  enable  her  presently  to 
become  self-supporting  would  be  false  pride.  She 
acknowledged  as  sound,  under  her  present  circum 
stances,  Mr.  Prentiss's  assertion  that  it  was  no  less 
the  duty  of  the  unfortunate  to  accept  bounty  within 
proper  limits  than  of  the  prosperous  to  give.  She 
consented  also  at  his  instance  to  call  upon  her  bene 
factress. 

Any  encouragement  on  the  part  of  Constance 
would  have  induced  Mr.  Prentiss  to  raise  a  sub 
scription  to  pay  off  the  second  mortgage  on  the 
house  incurred  by  Emil,  and  thus  provide  her  with 
a  home.  But  at  the  first  hint  of  such  a  thing  she 
shook  her  head  decisively.  A  very  different 
thought  was  in  her  mind.  Emil  was  still  alive  and 
liable  for  the  bills  which  he  had  incurred  for  the 
expenses  of  the  canvass,  but  she  felt  that  the  six 
hundred  dollars  which  he  had  withheld  from  his 
client  as  an  enforced  loan  must  be  paid  at  once  or 
the  good  name  of  her  children  would  be  tarnished. 
His  appropriation  of  this  money  on  the  eve  of  his 
disappearance  was  damning  in  its  suggestion;  but 
she  had  thankfully  adopted  and  was  clinging  te 
naciously  to  the  explanation  proffered  by  one  of  the 
easy-going  and  good-natured  co-tenants  of  the  office 

142 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

occupied  by  her  husband,  that  the  money  had  been 
borrowed  to  carry  out  a  speculation,  and  that  Emil 
had  meant  to  return  it.  Did  not  the  broker's  re 
port  of  the  purchase  and  sale,  found  among  the 
papers  in  Emil's  desk,  support  this?  She  realized 
fully  that  from  the  mere  stand-point  of  legal 
responsibility  his  motive  was  immaterial.  But  with 
her  knowledge  of  his  characteristics  and  of  the  past 
she  felt  that  she  had  the  right  to  insist  on  the 
theory  that  he  had  been  led  astray  by  sanguine 
anticipations  which,  as  usual,  had  been  disap 
pointed.  His  conduct  had  been  weak  and  miser 
able,  and  exposed  him  to  obloquy,  but  it  was  not 
the  same  as  deliberate  theft.  As  a  mother,  she 
was  solicitous  to  treat  the  transaction  as  a  loan 
and  to  repay  it  without  delay.  The  world  might 
not  discriminate,  but  for  herself  and  for  the  chil 
dren  the  distinction  was  essential. 

Having  been  informed  how  matters  stood,  and 
that  there  was  probably  still  some  small  value  left 
in  the  house  over  and  above  the  two  mortgages, 
she  thought  she  saw  an  opportunity  to  discharge 
this  vital  obligation.  Accordingly,  when  she  found 
that  the  clergyman  was  still  considering  means  for 
rescuing  her  home,  she  disclosed  her  theory  and 
her  purpose. 

"My  husband  borrowed  that  money,  Mr.  Pren- 
tiss.  He  expected  to  be  able  to  return  it.  I  am 
sure  of  this.  It  was  just  like  him.  People  think 
it  was  something  worse  because  of  what  was  in  the 
newspapers.  But,  guilty  as  he  was,  he  would  not 
have  done  that.  This  being  so,  I  am  anxious  to 
have  the  mortgages  foreclosed,  or  whatever  is 
necessary  done,  and  to  have  what  is  left  returned 

143 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

to  the  woman  whose  money  he  borrowed.  It  was 
six  hundred  dollars,  and  there  is  the  interest.  You 
told  me  you  thought  there  would  be  over  five  hun 
dred  left,  if  the  mortgagee  was  disposed  to  be  rea 
sonable." 

Although  Mr.  Prentiss  may  have  had  doubts 
whether  Emil  Stuart  was  entitled  to  the  distinction 
drawn  by  his  wife,  he  understood  and  admired  her 
solicitude.  "I  see,"  he  said.  "I  am  told  that  the 
value  of  real  estate  in  the  neighborhood  of  your 
house  has  improved  somewhat,  and  that  you  ought 
to  get  at  least  five  hundred  dollars.  But  in  any 
event  the  money  which  your  husband  borrowed 
shall  be  returned.  You  need  give  yourself  no 
further  concern  as  to  this;  I  will  see  that  it  is 
done." 

Constance  shook  her  head  again.  "It  wouldn't 
be  the  same  if  anyone  else  were  to  pay  it,"  she  said, 
directly. 

"So  it  would  not.  You  are  right,"  he  replied 
with  equal  promptness,  admitting  the  accuracy  of 
her  perception,  which  had  confounded  his  too  glib 
generosity.  "Unless  you  paid  it,  you  would  feel 
that  you  had  no  right  to  consider  that  the  money 
had  been  borrowed." 

"Though  I  am  certain  of  it." 

"Precisely — precisely.  I  understood  what  you 
desired,  and  it  was  unintelligent  of  me  to  bungle." 
A  confession  of  lack  of  intelligence  by  Mr.  Pren 
tiss  signified  not  merely  deliberate  self-mortifica 
tion,  but  was  offered  as  a  tribute  to  the  mental 
quality  of  his  visitor.  He  had  chosen  a  word 
which  would  have  been  wasted  on  or  misinterpreted 
by  the  ordinary  applicant  for  counsel,  that  he 

144 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

might  let  her  perceive  that  he  was  alive  to  the 
nicety  of  her  spiritual  intuitions.  They  were  at 
his  house — in  his  comfortable,  attractive  library — 
and  he  understood  now  that  the  object  of  her  call 
had  been  conscientious  eagerness  to  discharge  this 
debt.  There  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  ac 
quiesce  in  her  requirements,  and  to  thank  God  for 
this  manifestation  of  grace.  This  quiet,  simple 
directness,  which  separated  the  right  from  the 
wrong  with  unswerving  precision,  proceeding  from 
the  lips  and  eyes  of  this  pale  but  interesting  woman 
in  faded  garb,  was  fresh  and  invigorating  testi 
mony  to  the  vitality  of  the  human  soul  exposed  to 
the  stress  of  sordid,  workaday  realities  and  un 
assisted  by  the  choicer  blessings  of  civilization. 

Mr.  Prentiss  pressed  her  hand  with  a  new 
warmth  as  he  bade  her  good-by.  "You  must  come 
to  see  me  often,"  he  said.  "Not  for  your  needs 
only,  but  for  mine.  It  helps  me  to  talk  with  you. 
And  I  shall  keep  my  eye  on  you  and  see  that  you 
get  work." 

As  the  upshot  of  this  conversation,  Constance 
surrendered  her  house  to  the  mortgagee  and  re 
vived  six  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  her  inter- 
st  in  the  equity.  The  small  sum  remaining  after 
he  claim  of  Emil's  client  had  been  satisfied  was 
upplemented  presently  by  the  sale  of  that  portion 
)f  the  furniture  unavailable  in  the  tenement  into 
vhich  she  moved,  so  that  she  had  about  a  hundred 
lollars  saved  from  the  wreck  of  her  former  for- 
unes.  The  tenement  consisted  of  two  sunny 
•ooms  in  a  new  apartment  house  for  people  of 
nimble  means,  built  by  a  real  estate  investor  with 
)rogressive  business  instincts  from  plans  suggested 

145 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

by  the  Home  Beautifying  Society  of  Benham,  an 
aggregation  of  philanthropic  spirits,  of  which  Mrs. 
Wilson  was  one  of  the  vice-presidents.  Here  light, 
the  opportunity  for  cleanliness,  and  some  modern 
fixtures,  including  a  fire-escape,  were  obtainable  at 
a  moderate  rental;  and  while  the  small  suites  were 
monotonous  from  their  number  and  uniformity, 
their  occupants  could  fitly  regard  them  as  a  para 
dise  compared  with  the  old-fashioned  homes  for 
the  poor  supervised  solely  by  the  dull  mercy  of 
unenlightened  landlords.  Though  this  was  a  busi 
ness  enterprise,  the  owner  had  felt  at  liberty  even 
to  give  some  artistic  touches  to  the  exterior,  and 
altogther  it  could  be  said  that  the  investment  repre 
sented  a  model  hive  of  modern  workingmen's 
homes  from  the  point  of  view  of  Benham's,  and 
hence  American  philanthropic  commercial  aspira 
tion.  The  structure — Lincoln  Chambers,  it  was 
called — was  on  the  confines  of  the  poorer  section 
of  the  city  where,  owing  to  the  spread  of  trade,  the 
expansion  of  the  homes  of  the  people  was  forced 
further  to  the  south.  From  two  of  her  window 
Constance  looked  out  on  vacant  lands  but  hal: 
redeemed  from  the  grasp  of  nature,  a  prospec 
littered  with  the  unsightly  disorder  of  a  neighbor 
hood  in  the  throes  of  confiscation  by  a  metropolis 
but  the  mongrel  character  of  the  vicinity  was  to 
her  more  than  atoned  for  by  the  fresh  air  and  the 
wide  expanse  of  horizon.  Her  home  was  on  the 
eighth  story — there  were  ten  stories  in  all — and  on 
the  roof  there  was  an  arrangement  of  space  for 
drying  clothes  which  seemed  to  bring  her  much 
closer  to  the  impenetrable  blue  of  the  sky.  As 
under  the  influence  of  this  communion  she  gave 

146 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

rein  to  introspection  and  fancy,  her  thoughts  har 
bored  for  the  moment  chiefly  thankfulness.  The 
stress  of  her  plight  had  been  relieved.  Discrimi 
nating  kindness  had  enabled  her  to  get  a  fresh  hold 
on  life  without  loss  of  her  self-respect.  What 
mattered  it  that  her  social  lot  must  be  obscure,  and 
that  she  had  become  one  of  the  undistinguishable 
many  whose  identity  was  lost  in  this  towering  com 
bination  of  small  and  uniform  tenements?  She 
had  still  a  roof  over  her  children's  heads  and  a 
legitimate  prospect  of  being  able  to  support  them 
without  accepting  the  bitter  bread  of  charity.  Yes, 
she  had  become  one  of  the  humblest  of  human 
strugglers,  but  her  abounding  interest  in  these  two 
dear  possessions  made  not  only  her  duty  plain  but 
her  opportunity  inspiring  and  almost  golden.  The 
mortification  and  anguish  of  the  past  she  would 
never  be  able  to  forget  entirely,  but  she  would 
make  the  most  of  this  new  chance  for  world-service 
and  happiness. 

It  had  been  necessary  to  sign  some  papers  in 
order  to  convey  her  interest  in  the  equity  of  her 
house,  and  she  went  for  the  purpose  to  the  office 
of  the  mortgagee's  lawyer.  He  was  a  young  man, 
somewhat  over  thirty,  with  a  noticeably  frank  face 
and  lucid  utterance  and  kind,  intelligent  eyes.  As 
he  handed  her  the  six  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  it 
occurred  to  her  that  she  would  like  to  employ  him 
to  satisfy  Emil's  obligation.  She  preferred  not  to 
have  a  personal  interview  with  the  creditor  lest 
she  be  obliged  to  listen  to  recriminations  against 
her  husband,  and  she  was  loth  to  bother  Mr.  Pren- 
tiss.  So  she  broached  the  matter,  stating  briefly 
that  it  was  a  debt  which  her  husband  had  intended 

147 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

to  pay  before  his  departure.  She  had  already  dis 
covered  when  the  papers  were  signed  that  the  at 
torney  was  aware  that  she  had  been  deserted,  and 
neither  did  she  supply  nor  did  he  seek  enlighten 
ment  beyond  the  bare  explanation  offered.  Never 
theless,  it  was  obvious  to  Constance,  despite  his 
professional  reserve,  that  he  was  alive  to  the  im 
port  of  the  transaction  for  which  she  was  employ 
ing  him,  and  that  it  had  inspired  in  him  more  than 
a  mere  business  interest.  There  was  a  gentle  de 
ference  in  his  manner  which  seemed  to  suggest 
that  he  knew  he  was  charged  with  a  delicate  mis 
sion  and  that  he  would  fulfil  it  scrupulously.  She 
liked  the  straightforward  simplicity  of  his  address, 
which  was  both  emphasized  and  illuminated  by 
the  intelligent,  amiable  glint  of  his  eyes  which  in 
dicated  independence  and  humor,  as  well  as 
probity.  As  she  rose  to  go,  Constance  realized 
that  she  had  forgotten  his  name,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  opening  the  receipt  for  the  money  which 
he  had  given  her,  in  order  to  ascertain  it,  when 
he  reached  out  and  taking  some  cards  from  one 
of  the  pigeon-holes  of  his  desk  handed  them  to 
her. 

"I  shall  write  to  you  the  result  of  my  interview, 
Mrs.  Stuart,  and  send  you  a  written  discharge. 
Here  are  a  few  of  my  business  cards.  I  hope  that 
none  of  your  neighbors  will  need  the  assistance 
of  a  lawyer,  but  if  they  do,  that  is  my  profession, 
and  I  intend  to  do  the  best  I  can  for  my  clients." 

There  was  a  pleasant  earnestness  in  his  tone 
which  saved  his  speech  from  the  effect  of  mere 
solicitation.  It  seemed  to  Constance  as  though  he 
had  said  not  merely  that  he  was  eager  to  get  on, 

148 


i 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

but  that  he  stood  ready  to  help  those  who  like  her 
self  had  need  to  bring  their  small  affairs  to  a  sym 
pathetic  and  upright  counsellor.  She  had  asked 
him  previously  what  his  charge  would  be  for  secur 
ing  a  release  of  the  claim  against  Emil.  He  had 
hesitated  for  a  moment  and  she  had  been  appre 
hensive  lest  he  might  say  that  it  would  be  nothing, 
but  he  had  replied  that  it  would  be  three  dol 
lars. 

She  glanced  at  the  cards  and  read  the  name — 
Gordon  Perry,  Attorney  and  Counsellor-at-Law, 
144  Baker  St.  Their  interview  had  been  in  an 
inner  office — a  room  of  moderate  size,  near  the 
roof  of  a  modern  building,  with  a  fine  view,  eclips 
ing  that  of  her  own  flat,  and  furnished,  besides  a 
couple  of  chairs,  with  rows  of  law  books  and  a  few 
large  photographs  of  legal  celebrities.  On  the 
way  out  she  passed  through  the  general  office, 
where  there  were  more  chairs,  several  of  them 
occupied  by  visitors  who  had  been  waiting  for  her 
interview  to  come  to  an  end,  more  shelves  of  books, 
and  two  or  three  desks,  at  one  of  which  a  woman 
type-writer  was  sitting  at  work.  The  click  of  the 
machine  sounded  melodiously  in  Constance's  ears, 
and  she  turned  her  glance  in  that  direction,  in  wist 
ful  anticipation  of  the  time  when  she  would  have 
similar  employment.  On  her  arrival  her  gaze  had 
been  introspective,  but  now  that  her  errand  was 
over  she  felt  the  inclination  to  observe  external 
things.  As  she  closed  the  outer  door  she  saw  that 
the  glass  panel  bore  a  painted  inscription  similar 
to  that  of  the  card — Gordon  Perry,  Attorney  and 
Counsellor-at-Law.  She  reflected  that  he  had  been 
courteous  and  sympathetic  to  her.  and  she  felt 

149 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

sure  that  he  was  to  be  trusted,  notwithstanding  the 
rude  shock  which  Emil's  prefidy  had  given  to  her 
faith  in  her  own  powers  of  discrimination.  There 
are  some  dispositions  which  are  turned  to  gall  and 
forever  charged  with  suspicion  by  a  great  shock 
to  love  and  faith  as  sweet  milk  turns  to  vinegar 
at  the  clap  of  a  thunder-storm.  There  are  others 
whose  horizon  is  cleared  by  the  bitterness  of  the 
blow,  and  who,  partly  from  humility,  partly  from 
an  instinctive  revolt  against  the  doctrine  of  despair, 
readjust  their  perspectives  and  harbor  still  the 
god-like  belief  that  they  can  know  good  from 
evil. 

Preliminary  to  beginning  her  lessons,  Constance 
had  still  her  call  to  make  on  Mrs.  Wilson.  The 
new  fashionable  quarter  of  Benham,  beyond  the 
river  Nye,  was  scarcely  more  than  a  name  to  her, 
though,  especially  in  the  early  days  of  her  mar 
riage,  she  had  from  time  to  time  included  this  in 
her  Sabbath  saunterings  with  her  husband,  and 
she  remembered  Emil's  having  pointed  out  in 
terms  of  irony  the  twin  mansions  of  Mr.  Carleton 
Howard  and  his  sister  in  process  of  erection.  She 
had  not  felt  envious,  but  when  Emil,  after  in 
veighing  against  the  extravagance  of  millionaires, 
had  with  characteristic  inconsistency,  as  they  stood 
gazing  at  the  walls  of  these  modern  palaces, 
asserted  that  he  intended  some  day  to  have  a  house 
of  this  kind,  she  had  wondered  what  it  would  be 
like,  and  had  contrasted  for  a  moment  the  lives  of 
the  dwellers  in  this  locality  with  her  own,  with  a 
sudden  appreciation  of  the  power  of  material  cir 
cumstances  and  a  wistful  curiosity  to  be  translated 
into  an  experience  which  should  include  white- 
ISO 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

aproned  maids,  drawing-room  draperies,  and  a 
private  equipage  as  daily  accessories.  She  had 
silently  wondered,  too,  pondering  without  abetting 
her  husband's  caustic  cue,  how  this  contrast  was  to 
be  reconciled  with  what  she  had  been  taught  of 
American  notions  of  social  uniformity  and  the 
subordination  of  the  unnecessary  vanities  and 
splendor  of  life  to  spiritual  considerations.  It  was 
puzzling,  and  yet  the  manifestations  of  these  dis 
crepancies  were  apparently  in  good  repute  and  be 
coming  more  obvious  as  the  city  grew  in  popula 
tion  and  importance. 

It  is  the  personal  equation  in  this  world  which 
forces  truths  most  clearly  upon  our  attention.  So 
it  was  that  Constance  on  her  way  to  Mrs.  Wilson's 
was  fully  alive  to  the  fact — not  bitterly,  but  philo 
sophically  and  equably — that,  despite  the  theory 
of  democratic  social  institutions  which  she  had  im 
bibed,  actual  conditions  in  Benham  were  repeating 
the  old-world  distinctions  between  the  powerful 
and  the  lowly,  the  rich  and  the  impecunious.  There 
was  no  blinking  the  knowledge  that  she  was  living 
obscurely  in  a  flat  on  the  lookout  for  the  bare 
necessaries  of  existence,  while  the  woman  she  was 
going  to  see  was  a  woman  of  wealth  and  impor 
tance,  to  whom  she  was  beholden  for  the  oppor 
tunity  of  a  new  start.  Obviously,  the  American 
experiment  had  not  succeeded  in  doing  away  with 
the  distinctions  between  rich  and  poor,  though  pa 
triotic  school-books  had  given  her  to  understand 
that  there  were  none,  or  rather  that  such  as  existed 
were  spiritual  and  in  favor  of  people  of  humble 
means.  Constance  could  be  sardonic  if  she  chose, 
but  like  most  women  she  had  little  taste  for  irony. 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

On  the  other  hand,  she  had  a  yearning  to  see  things 
clearly  which  her  misfortunes  had  only  served  to 
intensify. 

As  she  entered  Mrs.  Wilson's  house  a  new  emo 
tion  superseded  this  consciousness  of  contrast.  She 
had  expected  to  be  somewhat  edified  by  the  decora 
tions  and  upholsteries,  and  had  felt  a  mild  curiosity 
regarding  them.  But  she  was  wholly  unprepared 
for  the  superb  and  spacious  surroundings  in  which 
she  found  herself.  She  walked  bewildered 
through  the  august  hall  behind  the  solemn,  fastidi 
ous  man-servant,  who,  when  she  had  disclosed  her 
name  and  errand,  ushered  her  into  the  reception- 
room,  which  served  as  an  ante-chamber  to  the  vista 
of  elegant  connecting  drawing-rooms.  While  she 
waited  for  Mrs.  Wilson  she  sat  gazing  with  sur 
prise  and  admiration  at  the  costly  and  elaborate 
furnishings  and  ornaments.  It  was  not  that  such 
things  were  beyond  the  experience  of  her  imagina 
tion  at  least,  for,  though  she  had  never  been 
abroad,  she  felt  familiar,  through  books,  with  the 
appearance  of  splendid  houses.  She  had  seen  pict 
ures  of  them,  and  was  not  without  definite  im 
pressions  of  grandeur.  But  she  had  not  expected 
to  behold  them  realized  in  the  social  life  of  Ben- 
ham.  If  the  discovery  was,  spiritually  speaking, 
a  slight  shock,  it  was  a  far  greater  source  of  de 
light.  Neat  as  wax  herself,  but  confined  both  by 
poverty  and  early  associations  to  sober  hues,  she 
found  in  the  close  presence  of  these  bright,  seduc 
tive,  and  artistic  effects  a  sort  of  revelation  of  the 
power  of  beauty  which  thrilled  her  deliciously. 
Here  was  the  culmination  of  the  movement  in 
aesthetic  expression  of  which,  as  revealed  in  shop 

152 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

windows  and  on  women's  backs,  she  had  for  some 
time  been  vaguely  aware,  but  in  which  she  had 
been  forbidden  by  the  rigor  of  her  life  to  partici 
pate.  The  full  meaning  of  this  as  an  ally  to  human 
happiness  now  burst  upon  her,  and  gave  her  a  new 
joy,  though  it  emphasized  the  lowliness  of  her  own 
station. 

The  aspect  and  greeting  of  Mrs.  Wilson  gave 
the  crowning  touch  to  her  pleasure  by  adding  the 
human  complement  to  the  situation.  She  was  fac 
ing  a  smiling,  gracious  personality  whose  features, 
bearing,  and  gown  alike  were  fascinating  and  dis 
tinguished.  Constance  felt  no  inclination  to  be 
obsequious.  Her  native  birthright  of  unconscious 
ease  stood  her  in  good  stead.  At  the  same  time 
she  desired  to  appear  grateful.  She  had  come  to 
thank  the  lady  of  the  house,  and  it  was  obvious 
that  the  lady  of  the  house  was  a  superior  individ 
ual.  What  a  melodious  voice  she  had,  and  what 
a  pretty  dress!  How  becoming  her  crinkly,  griz 
zled  hair!  What  an  interesting  expression,  what 

sympathetic  light  in  her  eyes !  Constance  noted 
these  points  with  womanlike  avidity  during  their 
interchange  of  greetings.  Mrs.  Wilson  asked  her 
to  sit  down. 

"I  have  heard  all  about  you  from  Mr.  Prentiss, 
Mrs.  Stuart,"  she  said,  evidently  intending  by  this 
comprehensive  remark  to  obviate  for  her  visitor 
the  necessity  of  recurring  to  a  painful  past.  "He 
tells  me  that  you  have  shown  great  courage.  He 
tells  me  also  that  you  have  left  your  house  and 
moved  into  Lincoln  Chambers — the  new  dormi 
tory  built  under  the  supervision  of  our  Home 
Beautifying  Society." 

153 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Yes;  it  is  very  comfortable.  We  get  a  glimpse 
of  the  country  from  our  windows." 

"I  know.  That  is  a  conspicuous  factor  in  its 
favor.  Light  and  fresh  air,  good  plumbing,  pure 
milk,  a  regular,  even  though  small,  supply  of  ice — 
these  are  some  of  the  invaluable  aids  to  health  and 
happiness  for  all  of  us,  and  especially  for  those 
upon  whom  the  stress  of  life  falls  most  heavily. 
You  can  command  all  of  these  where  you  are.  You 
have  two  children,  I  believe?" 

uYes.    A  boy  of  seven  and  a  girl  of  six." 

"They  will  be  a  great  comfort  to  you." 

"I  do  not  know  what  I  should  have  done  with 
out  them." 

The  pride  of  maternity  encouraged  by  courtesy 
drew  from  Constance  this  simple  avowal  of  the 
heart.  Though  she  was  not  unconscious  that  Mrs. 
Wilson's  friendliness  was  imbued  with  patronage, 
it  was  sweet  to  open  her  heart  for  a  moment  to 
another  woman — and  to  a  woman  like  this. 

"And  you  have  planned  to  pursue  type-writing 
as  an  occupation?" 

"Yes;  I  begin  my  lessons  to-morrow,  owing  to 
you.  I  came  to  thank  you  for  your  generosity.  It 
was " 

"I  understand.  I  am  very  glad  that  there  was 
something  I  could  do  for  you.  I  was  interested 
when  Mr.  Prentiss  spoke  to  me  concerning  your 
necessities  and  your  zeal;  I  am  even  more  inter 
ested  now  that  we  have  met.  I  am  told  by  those 
best  informed  that  there  is  steady  employment  for 
accomplished  stenographers.  It  may  be  that  my 
own  private  secretary — a  woman  who,  like  your 
self,  had  her  own  way  to  make — will  be  able  to 

154 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

send  for  you  presently.  My  daughter  is  to  be 
married  before  long,  and  there  will  be  errands  to 
be  run  and  things  to  be  done  down-town  and  in 
the  house,  if  you  would  not  object  to  making  your 
self  generally  useful." 

"I  shall  be  grateful  for  any  employment  which 
you  can  give  me." 

"I  shall  remember."  Mrs.  Wilson  smiled 
sweetly.  She  had  felt  her  way  decorously,  but  was 
pleased  to  find  an  absence  of  false  pride  in  her  vis 
itor,  who  was  obviously  a  gentle  woman,  though 
lacking  the  advantages  of  wardrobe  and  social 
prestige — as  she  reflected,  a  sort  of  Burne-Jones 
type  of  severe  sestheticism,  with  a  common-sense 
individuality  of  her  own,  and  an  agreeable  voice. 
"It  will  be  a  little  discouraging  at  first,  I  dare  say, 
until  you  acquire  facility  in  your  work;  but  I  feel 
certain  that  in  a  short  time  you  will  be  not  only 
self-supporting  but  happy.  A  woman  with  two 
young  children  can  really  live  on  very  little  if  she 
is  provident  and  discerning.  It  is  the  man  who 
eats.  Have  you  ever  studied  the  comparative 
nutritive  properties  of  foods?" 

Constance  shook  her  head. 

"I  will  send  you  a  little  pamphlet  in  regard  to 
this.  Many  Americans  eat  more  meat  than  they 
require;  more  Americans  are  wasteful,  and  igno 
rant  of  food  values.  Housewives  of  moderate 
means  who  approach  this  subject  in  a  serious  spirit 
can  learn  how  to  nourish  adequately  the  human 
body  at  a  far  less  cost  than  their  unenlightened 
sisters.  Cereals,  macaroni,  milk,  bread  and  but 
ter,  cheese — they  are  all  nutritive  and  easy  to  pre 
pare.  If  I  may  say  so,  you  appear  to  me  just  the 

155 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

woman  to  appreciate  these  modern  scientific  truths, 
and  to  make  the  most  of  them." 

It  seemed  to  Constance  that  she  had  never  heard 
anyone  speak  more  alluringly.  What  was  said 
interested  her,  and  she  was  pleased  by  the  flatter 
ing  personal  allusion  at  the  close,  but  every  other 
effect  was  subordinated  for  her  at  the  moment  to 
the  charm  of  expression,  or,  indeed,  to  Mrs.  Wil 
son's  whole  magnetic  personality  as  shown  in  looks 
and  words.  She  had  never  before  come  in  per 
sonal  contact  with  anything  just  like  it,  and  it  fas 
cinated  her.  An  admiration  of  this  sort  would 
have  promptly  generated  envy  and  dislike  in  some 
women,  but  in  Constance  it  awoke  interest  and 
ambition.  Although  she  felt  that  she  had  stayed 
long  enough,  she  was  loth  to  go,  so  absorbed  was 
she  by  the  consummate  graciousness  and  sym 
pathetic  fluency,  by  the  effective  gown  and  elegant 
personal  details  of  her  hostess.  She  rose  at  last, 
and,  impelled  to  make  some  acknowledgment  of 
her  emotions,  said,  wistfully,  yet  in  nowise 
abashed : 

"What  a  beautiful  house  this  is!  I  have  never 
seen  anything  like  it  before.  It  must  be  a  great 
pleasure  to  live  here." 

The  frank  artlessness  of  this  tribute  was  grate 
ful  to  Mrs.  Wilson.  "Yes,  we  think  it  beautiful. 
We  have  tried  to  make  it  so.  Would  you  like 
to  walk  through  some  of  the  other  rooms?" 

Constance  was  glad  to  accept  this  invitation. 
As  they  proceeded  Mrs.  Wilson  let  the  apartments 
speak  for  themselves,  adding  only  an  occasional 
phrase  of  enlightenment.  She  was  pleased  with 
her  visitor,  and  divined  that  words  wrere  not  need- 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ful  to  produce  the  proper  impression.  Constance 
walked  as  in  a  trance,  admiring  unreservedly  in 
thought  the  splendor,  elegance,  and  diversity  of 
the  upholsteries  and  decoration,  admiring  also  the 
graceful  magnetic  woman  beside  her  whose  every 
gesture  and  intonation  seemed  attuned  to  the  ex 
quisite  surroundings.  As  they  parted  Constance 
said: 

"This  has  been  a  great  pleasure  to  me."  She 
added,  "I  had  no  idea  that  people  here — in  this 
country — had  such  beautiful  homes,  such  beauti 
ful  things." 

There  was  no  repugnance  in  the  confession,  but 
a  mere  statement  of  fact  which  suggested  satis 
faction  rather  than  umbrage  at  the  discovery,  al 
though  the  ethical  doubt  of  the  relevancy  of  these 
splendors  to  American  ideals  was  a  part  of  her 
sub-consciousness.  Mrs.  Wilson's  response  gave 
the  finishing  touch  to  this  passive  doubt.  That  lady 
had  recognized  that  she  was  not  dealing  with  dross 
but  a  sensitive  human  soul,  and  had  refrained  from 
didactic  utterances.  Yet  she  felt  it  her  duty,  or 
rather  her  duty  and  her  mission  combined,  to  take 
advantage  of  this  opportunity  to  sow  the  seed  of 
culture  in  this  rich  but  unploughed  soil  by  a  deft 
and  genuine  illustration. 

"The  spirit  which  has  accomplished  what  you 
see  here  can  be  introduced  into  any  home,  Mrs. 
Stuart,  and  work  marvels  in  the  cause  of  beauty, 
health,  and  decency,"  she  said  with  incisive  sweet 
ness,  her  head  a  little  on  one  side.  "Because  one 
is  poor  it  is  not  necessary  to  have  or  foster  ugly, 
inartistic,  and  sordid  surroundings.  A  little 
thought,  a  little  reverence  for  aesthetic  truth  will 

157 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

not  enable  those  of  restricted  means  to  live  in 
luxury,  but  it  will  serve  to  keep  beauty  enshrined 
in  the  hearts  of  the  humblest  household — beauty 
and  her  hand-maidens,  cleanliness,  hygiene,  and 
that  subtle  sense  of  the  eternal  fitness  of  things 
which  neither  neglects  to  use  nor  irreligiously  mis- 
mates  God's  glorious  colors.  We  as  a  people  have 
been  loth  to  recognize  the  value  of  artistic  merit 
as  an  element  of  the  highest  civilization.  Until 
recently  we  have  been  content  to  cultivate  morality 
at  the  expense  of  aesthetic  feeling,  and  have  only 
just  begun  to  realize  that  that  type  of  virtue  which 
disdains  or  is  indifferent  to  beauty  is  like  salt  with 
out  savor.  There  is  no  reason  why  in  its  way  your 
home — your  apartment — should  not  be  as  faith 
ful  to  the  spirit  of  beauty  as  mine.  Do  you  under 
stand  me?  Do  I  make  myself  clear?"  Her 
mobile  face  was  vibrant  with  the  ardor  of  prosely- 
tism. 

Constance  looked  at  her  eagerly.  "I  think  I 
understand,"  she  said.  "But,"  she  added,  "I 
might  not  have  understood  unless  I  had  seen  this 
house — unless  I  had  seen  and  talked  with  you." 
She  paused  an  instant,  for  the  vision  of  her  own 
tenement  as  a  thing  of  beauty,  alluring  as  was  the 
opportunity,  had  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  her  com 
mon  sense.  Then  she  asked  a  practical  question. 
"If  one  had  aptitude  and  experience,  I  can  see  that 
much  might  be  accomplished.  But  how  is  one  with 
neither  to  be  sure  of  being  right?" 

Conscious  of  these  honest,  thoughtful  eyes — 
eyes,  too,  in  which  she  felt  that  she  discerned  latent 
charming  possibilities — Mrs.  Wilson  had  an  in 
spiration  which  satisfied  herself  fully  as  she 
thought  of  it  later. 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"There  is  often  the  great  difficulty — also  the 
obstacle  to  those  who  labor  in  that  vineyard.  But 
in  your  case  I  am  sure  that  you  have  only  to  search 
your  own  heart  in  order  to  find  the  spirit  of  beauty. 
After  all,  the  artistic  sense  is  fundamentally 
largely  a  matter  of  character." 

Constance  went  on  her  way  with  winged  feet. 
She  felt  uplifted  by  the  interview.  Her  starved 
senses  had  been  refreshed,  and  her  imagination 
imbued  with  a  new  outlook  on  life,  which  though 
foreign,  if  not  inimical,  to  some  of  her  past  asso 
ciations,  she  already  perceived  to  be  vital  and 
stimulating. 


159 


XI 

r  I  ^HREE  months  later,  on  a  rare  day  in  early 
i-  June,  Miss  Lucille  Wilson  was  made  Mrs. 
Clarence  Waldo,  in  the  presence  of  a  fashionable 
company.  Journalistic  social  tittle-tattle  had  en 
gendered  such  lively  public  interest  that  the 
neighborhood  of  St.  Stephen's  was  beset  by  a 
throng  of  sight-seers — chiefly  random  women — 
who  for  two  hours  previous  to  the  ceremony  occu 
pied  the  adjacent  sidewalks  and  every  spot  which 
would  command  a  glimpse  of  the  bride  and  guests. 
A  force  of  policemen  guarded  the  church  against 
the  incursion  of  the  multitude.  Yet  perhaps  the 
patient  waiters  felt  rewarded  for  their  pains,  inas 
much  as  the  heroine  of  the  occasion,  after  alight 
ing  from  her  carriage,  stood  for  an  instant  at  the 
entrance  to  the  canopy  before  proceeding,  as 
though  she  were  willing  to  give  the  world  a  brief 
opportunity  to  behold  her  loveliness  and  grandeur. 
For  those  with  pocket  cameras  there  was  time 
enough  for  a  snap-shot  before  she  was  lost  to 
sight. 

Within  the  church  were  gay  silks  and  nodding 
bonnet  plumes  and  imposing  formalities.  Six 
maids,  each  wearing  as  a  memento  an  exquisite 
locket  encrusted  with  diamonds,  and  six  ushers  with 
scarf-pins  of  a  pearl  set  in  a  circle  of  tiny  rubies, 
escorted  the  bride  to  the  altar,  where  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Prentiss  and  two  assistant  priests  were  in  attend- 

160 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ance.  When  the  happy  pair  had  been  made  man 
and  wife  a  choir  of  expensive  voices  chanted  me 
lodiously  "O  Perfect  Love,"  and  the  procession 
streamed  down  the  aisle  on  its  way  to  the  wedding- 
breakfast.  This  was  served  by  a  New  York 
caterer  on  little  tables  with  all  the  gorgeous  nicety 
of  which  he  was  capable.  Though  June  is  a  month 
when  most  delicious  things  are  to  be  had,  an  effort 
had  evidently  been  made  to  procure  delicacies 
which  were  not  in  season.  The  effect  of  a  jam  of 
guests  elbowing  for  their  food,  as  is  usual  on  such 
occasions,  would  have  lacerated  Mrs.  Wilson's 
sensibilities.  Her  house  was  large,  so  she  had  been 
able  to  invite  her  entire  social  acquaintance  with 
out  crowding  her  rooms,  and  her  instructions  had 
been  that  there  should  be  numerous  deft  waiters 
in  order  that  each  guest  might  come  under  the 
benign  influence  of  personal  supervision.  Accord 
ingly  everyone  was  pleased  and  in  good  spirits 
unless  it  were  the  bridegroom,  and  the  doubt  in 
his  case  was  suggested  only  by  the  impassiveness 
of  his  countenance  at  a  time  when  it  should  prop 
erly  have  been  the  mirror  of  his  heart's  joy.  Per 
haps  he  had  not  fully  recovered  from  the  farewell 
dinner  given  him  by  his  stag  friends,  as  newspaper 
women  are  apt  to  designate  a  bachelor's  intimates, 
where  he  had  seen  fit  to  express  his  emotion  by 
drinking  champagne  to  the  point  when  he  became 
musically  mellow,  a  curious  and  singularly  Anglo- 
Saxon  prelude  to  the  holy  rite  of  matrimony. 
Nevertheless,  he  was  dignified  if  unemotional;  and 
his  frock  coat,  built  for  the  occasion,  his  creased 
trousers,  and  mouse-colored  spats  were  irreproach 
able. 

161 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

When  the  hour  came  for  the  bride  and  groom 
to  depart  there  were  so  many  sight-seers  about  the 
door  that  the  police  had  to  keep  the  public  at  bay 
in  order  to  afford  the  happy  pair  a  clear  passage 
to  the  carriage;  and  also  to  give  the  blithe  young 
men  and  women  ample  scope  for  the  discharge  of 
the  rice  and  slippers  which  convention  prescribes 
shall  be  hurled  at  those  who  set  forth  on  their 
honeymoon  in  the  blaze  of  social  distinction.  For 
a  moment  the  fun  was  furious,  and,  the  contagion 
spreading  to  the  spectators,  a  cheer  partly  of  sym 
pathy,  partly  of  derision  broke  forth  as  the 
spirited  horses,  bewildered  by  the  shower  of  mis 
siles,  bounded  away  toward  the  station.  Two  hat- 
less,  exhilarated  youths  chased  the  retreating  vic 
tims  down  the  street,  one  of  whom  skilfully  threw 
an  old  shoe  so  that  it  remained  on  the  top  of  the 
vehicle.  When  the  young  couple  entered  the 
special  Pullman  car  reserved  for  them  the  news 
boys  were  already  offering  papers  containing  full 
accounts  of  the  wedding  ceremony,  including  a  list 
of  the  guests  and  of  the  presents  with  their  donors, 
large  pictures  of  the  bride  and  groom,  and  diverse 
cuts  reproductive  of  the  salient  features  of  what 
one  of  the  scribes  designated  as  the  most  imposing 
nuptials  in  Benham's  social  history. 

And  so  they  were  married.  And  sorry  as  she 
was  to  lose  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Wilson  was  thank 
ful  to  have  it  all  over,  and  to  be  able  to  settle  down 
once  more  and  unreservedly  to  the  schemes  for 
social  regeneration  which  had  shared  with  ma 
ternal  affection  the  energies  of  her  adult  mind.  To 
a  certain  extent  these  interests  had  been  rivals,  un 
consciously  and  involuntarily  so,  but  it  has  already 

162 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

been  intimated  that  Lucille  was  not  the  kind  of 
girl  her  mother  had  intended  her  to  be,  and  lacked 
the  sympathies  which  might  have  made  Mrs.  Wil 
son's  interests  virtually  one.  To  give  Lucille  all 
which  a  modern  parent  could  give  and  to  see  her 
happily  married  had  been  her  paramount  thought. 
This  was  now  accomplished.  The  child  had  re 
ceived  every  advantage  which  wealth  could  supply, 
and  every  stimulus  which  her  own  intelligence 
could  suggest.  Lucille  had  not  chosen  the  husband 
she  would  have  picked  out  for  her.  Still  Lucille 
loved  him,  and  since  fate  had  so  ordained  it,  and 
they  had  become  husband  and  wife,  she  was  de 
termined  to  be  pleased,  and  she  felt  in  a  measure 
relieved.  The  main  responsibility  was  at  an  end, 
and  she  could  now  enjoy  her  daughter's  married 
state,  and  was  free  to  give  almost  undivided 
thought  to  her  social  responsibilities. 

Accordingly  on  the  days  which  followed  the 
wedding  Mrs.  Wilson  shut  herself  up  in  her  study, 
and  with  the  aid  of  her  private  secretary  proceeded 
to  dispose  of  her  accumulated  correspondence,  and 
to  put  her  personal  affairs  to  rights.  June  was  the 
fag  end  of  the  social  year.  Many  of  those  who 
had  been  energetic  in  social  enterprises  since  the 
autumn  were  now  a  little  jaded  and  on  the  eve  of 
departure  for  the  country,  the  Lakes,  the  Atlantic 
coast  or  Europe,  in  search  of  that  respite  from  the 
full  pressure  of  modern  life  which  all  who  can  af 
ford  it  in  our  large  cities  now  endeavor  to  procure 
for  themselves.  Nevertheless  it  was  the  best  time 
to  look  the  field  over  and  to  sow  the  seeds  of  new 
undertakings  by  broaching  them  to  those  whose 
support  she  desired  by  a  short  note  of  suggestion 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

which  could  be  mulled  over  during  the  summer. 
It  was  not  the  season  to  extract  definite  promises 
from  allies  or  to  enlist  new  recruits,  but  essentially 
that  for  exploiting  ideas  which  might  bear  fruit 
later  when  the  brains  and  sensibilities  of  Benham's 
best  element  had  been  rested  and  refreshed.  Mrs. 
Wilson  had  numerous  charities,  clubs  in  further 
ance  of  knowledge  and  classes  promoting  hygienic 
or  aesthetic  development  to  be  pondered.  For 
some  of  these — the  struggling  annual  charities — 
methods  like  a  fair  or  theatricals  must  be  devised 
in  order  to  raise  fresh  annual  funds.  The  pro 
gressive  courses  of  the  past  winter,  such  as  the 
practical  talks  to  young  mothers,  with  live  babies 
as  object-lessons,  and  lectures  on  the  relaxation  of 
the  muscles,  must  be  superseded  by  others  no  less 
instructive  and  alluring.  Then  again  new  blood 
must  be  introduced  into  the  various  coteries  which 
worked  for  the  regeneration  and  enlightenment  of 
the  poor  to  make  good  the  losses  caused  by  matri 
mony  or  fickleness,  and  new  schemes  originated  for 
retaining  the  attention  of  the  meritorious  persons 
to  be  benefited.  In  this  last  connection  the  idea 
of  a  course  which  should  emphasize  the  impor 
tance  to  every  woman  of  learning  something  on 
which  she  could  fall  back  for  self-support,  sug 
gested  by  Mrs.  Stuart's  plight,  now  recurred  to 
her  as  timely.  And  besides  these  public  interests 
there  were  the — perhaps  more  absorbing  because 
more  flattering — numerous  personal  demands  on 
her  sympathies  and  time  made  by  other  women — 
women  largely  of  her  own,  but  of  every  walk. 
Here  it  seemed  to  her  was  her  most  precious  vine 
yard,  for  here  the  opportunity  was  given  for  soul 

164 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

to  compass  soul  in  an  affinity  which  blessed  both 
the  giver  and  the  receiver  of  spiritual  benefits. 
Sometimes  the  need  which  sought  her  was  that  of 
the  sinful  woman,  eager  to  rehabilitate  herself. 
Sometimes  that  of  the  friendless,  aspiring  student 
seeking  recognition  or  guidance;  but  oftener  than 
any  that  of  the  blossoming  maid  or  wife  of  her 
own  class  whose  yearning  nature,  reaching  out  to 
her's  as  the  flower  to  the  sun  and  breeze,  received 
the  mysterious  quickening  which  is  the  essence  of 
the  higher  life,  and  gave  to  her  in  return  a  love 
which  was  like  sexual  passion  in  its  ardor,  but 
savoring  only  of  the  spirit.  If  she  were  thus  able 
by  the  unconscious  gifts  or  grace  which  were  in 
her  to  relieve  the  necessities  and  attune  the  aspira 
tions  of  these  choice — and  it  seemed  to  her  that 
often  the  neediest  were  the  choicest — natures,  was 
it  strange  that  she  should  cherish  and  even  culti 
vate  this  involuntary  power?  Mrs.  Wilson's 
theory  in  regard  to  this  personal  influence  was  that 
it  was  the  grateful  product  of  her  allegiance  to, 
and  passion  for,  beauty  so  far  as  she  could  lay 
claim  to  any  merit  in  the  matter.  She  accepted  it 
as  a  heaven-sent  and  heaven-kissing  gift  which  was 
to  be  rejoiced  in  and  administered  as  a  trust.  Since 
her  talent  had  turned  out  to  be  that  of  a  leader  to 
point  the  way  by  virtue  of  sympathetic  intelligence 
— or,  to  quote  her  own  mental  simile,  the  electric 
medium  which  opened  to  eager,  groping  souls  the 
realm  of  spirit — was  not  the  mission  the  most  con 
genial  which  could  have  been  offered  her,  and  in 
the  direct  line  of  her  tastes  and  ambitions?  Con 
sequently  her  private  correspondence  with  those 
who  sought  counsel  and  inspiration  in  return  for 

165 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

adoring  fealty  was  a  labor  of  care  as  well  as  of 
love.  Just  the  right  words  must  be  written,  and 
the  individual  personal  touch  imparted  to  each 
message  of  criticism,  revelation,  homely  advice,  or 
mere  greeting.  To  be  true  to  beauty  and  to  main 
tain  her  individuality  by  the  free  outpouring  of 
herself  from  day  to  day  in  felicitous  speech  of 
tongue  and  pen  was  her  glowing  task.  In  the  pur 
suance  of  it  she  had  acquired  mannerisms  which 
were  now  a  part  of  herself.  Her  phrases  of  en 
dearment,  her  chirography,  her  note-paper,  her 
method  of  signing  herself,  had  severally  a  distinc 
tion  or  peculiarity  of  their  own.  All  this  was  now 
a  second  nature ;  but  at  the  outset  she  had  been  con 
scious  of  it,  and,  though  never  challenged,  she  had 
once  written  in  vindication  in  one  of  her  heart-to- 
heart  missives  that  the  mysterious  forces  of  the  uni 
verse  through  which  God  talks  with  man  wear  not 
the  garb  of  conforming  plainness,  but  have  each  its 
special  exquisiteness ;  witness  the  moon-bathed  sum 
mer  night,  the  mountain  peak  at  sunrise,  the  light 
ening  glare  among  the  forest  pines,  the  lordly 
ocean  in  its  many  moods.  She  had  a  memory  for 
birthdays  and  anniversaries.  In  the  hour  of  be 
reavement  her  unique  words  of  consolation  were 
the  first  to  arrive.  She  was  prodigal  of  flowers, 
and  her  proselytes,  knowing  her  affection  for  the 
rose  and  the  lily,  were  apt  to  transform  her  study 
into  a  bower  on  the  slightest  excuse.  She  never 
wrote  without  flowers  within  her  range  of  vision. 
In  the  evening  of  one  of  these  days  following 
her  daughter's  wedding,  Mrs.  Wilson  was  inter 
rupted  in  her  correspondence  by  the  entrance  of 
her  maid  with  the  bewildering  news  that  a  baby 

166 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

had  been  left  on  the  doorsteps,  and  that  a  woman, 
presumably  its  mother,  had,  in  the  act  of  stealing 
away  after  ringing  the  bell,  run  into  the  arms  of 
one  of  the  servants,  and  was  now  a  prisoner  below 
stairs.  The  maid  was  agitated.  Should  they  send 
for  a  policeman,  or  what  was  to  be  done?  The 
course  to  adopt  had  not  been  clear  to  those  in 
authority  in  the  kitchen,  and  the  solution  had  been 
left  to  the  mistress  whose  eleemosynary  tendencies 
had  to  be  taken  into  account. 

An  infant,  a  waif  of  destiny,  left  on  her  door 
steps  at  dead  of  night !  There  was  only  one  thing 
to  do,  to  see  the  baby,  and  to  talk  to  the  mother, 
and  for  this  purpose  Mrs.  Wilson  had  both 
brought  before  her  in  the  ante-room  where  she  had 
received  Constance  Stuart.  Rumor  flies  fast,  and 
by  this  time  a  burly,  belted  policeman  had  arrived 
on  the  scene  and  stood  towering  in  the  background 
behind  the  quartette  of  servants,  the  butler,  the 
second-man,  who  had  apprehended  the  woman,  a 
housemaid  who  had  taken  the  custody  of  the  child, 
and  Mrs.  Wilson's  own  maid.  Mrs.  Wilson  sur 
veyed  the  group  for  an  instant  with  the  air  of  a 
photographer  in  search  of  a  correct  setting.  Then, 
with  a  smile  of  divination,  she  said,  authorita 
tively,  "Now,  Mary,  give  the  child  to  its  mother, 
and  when  I  need  anyone,  I  will  ring.  You,  too, 
Mr.  Officer,  please  wait  outside.  I  am  sure  that 
this  woman  will  tell  me  her  story  more  freely  if 
we  are  alone.  And,  James,  bring  some  tea — the 
regular  tea-service." 

As  the  servants  took  their  departure,  Mrs.  Wil 
son  looked  again  at  the  woman,  whom  she  had 
already  perceived  to  be  young  and  good  looking. 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

She  stood  holding  her  baby  securely  but  not  ten 
derly,  with  a  half-defiant,  half-bewildered  air,  as 
of  a  cat  at  bay  in  strange  surroundings.  But 
though  her  mien  expressed  a  feline  dismay,  Mrs. 
Wilson  perceived  that  she  was  no  desperate  crea 
ture  of  the  slums.  Nor  was  she  flauntily  dressed 
like  the  courtesan  of  tradition.  Her  attire — a  neat 
straw  sailor  hat,  a  well-fitting  dark  blue  serge  skirt 
and  serge  jacket  over  a  white  shirt,  and  decent 
boots  indicated  some  social  aptness;  and  her 
features,  especially  her  clever  and  sensitive,  though 
somewhat  hard,  mouth  gave  the  challenge  of  in 
telligence.  It  was  a  smart  face,  one  which  sug 
gested  quick-wittedness  and  the  habit  of  self- 
reliance,  if  not  self-satisfaction,  to  the  detriment 
of  sentiment  and  delicacy.  She  appeared  to  Mrs. 
Wilson  to  be  about  twenty-three,  and  slightly 
shorter  than  Mrs.  Stuart,  with  a  sturdier,  less 
flexible  figure.  Her  hair  was  light  brown,  and 
her  complexion  fair,  but  she  had  roving  dark  eyes 
which  gave  a  touch  of  picturesqueness  to  what 
might  be  called  the  matter-of-fact  modernness  of 
her  aspect.  They  were  curious  eyes,  almost  Italian 
in  their  hue  and  calibre,  yet  in  repose  coldly 
scrutinizing  and  impassive.  Mrs.  Wilson  appre 
ciated  with  a  sense  of  relief  that  here  was  no  case 
of  sodden  ignorance  and  degradation;  for  though 
in  such  instances  the  remedy  was  more  obvious,  she 
preferred  to  be  brought  in  contact  with  natures 
which  drew  upon  her  intellectual  faculties.  She 
believed  herself  modern  in  her  sympathies,  and  in 
her  capacity  as  a  philanthropic  worker  was  partial 
to  the  problems  with  which  modern  conditions 

168 


I  am  sure  that  this  woman  will  tell  me  her  story  " 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

and  modern  thought  confront  struggling  human 
nature. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?  And  perhaps  you  would 
like  to  lay  your  baby  on  the  sofa  while  we  talk  and 
I  make  you  some  tea." 

The  girl,  who  was  prepared  probably  for  a 
sterner  method,  yielded,  after  a  quiver  of  uncer 
tainty,  to  the  fascination  of  this  gracious  appeal; 
pausing  for  a  brief  instant  to  examine  the  tiny 
face  peering  from  the  folds  of  the  knit  shawl  in 
which  the  child  was  wrapped,  but  with  a  gaze 
scientific  rather  than  maternal,  as  though  she  were 
seeking  to  trace  a  likeness  or  some  law  of  heredity. 
Then  she  sat  down  and  raised  her  eyes  to  meet  her 
entertainer's  with  a  glance  bordering  on  irony,  and 
which  seemed  to  ask,  "Well,  what  are  you  going 
to  do  about  it?"  Mrs.  Wilson  noticed  that  her 
hands,  which  lay  in  her  lap,  lightly  crossed,  with 
the  palms  down,  were  long  and  efficient-looking, 
and  that  she  wore  no  wedding-ring. 

"Is  it  a  boy  or  a  girl?"  Mrs.  Wilson  resumed, 
with  disarming  gentleness. 

"A  girl."  With  a  contraction  of  her  mouth 
which  began  in  a  bitter  smile  and  ended  against 
her  will  in  a  gulp,  she  added,  "I  didn't  intend  to 
have  it.  I  didn't  want  to  have  it.  I  suppose  you've 
guessed  I'm  not  a  married  woman." 

"Yes,  I  guessed  that.  I  see,  too,  that  you  are 
in  trouble,  and  my  sole  object  in  detaining  you  here 
to-night  is  to  give  you  all  the  aid  in  my  power. 
I'm  not  seeking  to  judge  or  to  lecture  you,  but  to 
help  you." 

The   girl   regarded  her  with  a   matter-of-fact 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

stare,  then  said,  bluntly,  "I'd  have  been  all  right 
now  if  your  servant  hadn't  nabbed  me." 

"You  mean  if  you  had  succeeded  in  abandoning 
your  child?" 

"Yes.  I  was  earning  my  living  before,  and  I 
could  go  on.  I  guess  I  could  have  got  back  my 
old  place." 

"But —  Do  you  mind  telling  me  why  you 
wished  to  abandon  your  baby?" 

"That's  why.  I've  just  told  you.  To  make  a 
fresh  start." 

"I  see.  And  it  was  chance,  I  suppose,  that  you 
left  it  on  my  door-steps  rather  than  elsewhere?" 

"You're  Mrs.  Randolph  Wilson,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"I  had  read  about  you  in  the  newspapers,  and 
all  about  the  wedding,  and  that  you  were  tremen 
dously  rich.  When  my  child  was  born  I  hoped  she'd 
die;  but,  as  she  didn't,  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
the  best  thing  I  could  do  was  to  let  you  look  after 
her.  But  the  luck  was  against  me  a  second  time. 
I  was  caught  again."  She  laughed  as  though  her 
only  concern  was  to  let  fate  perceive  that  she  had 
some  sense  of  humor. 

Mrs.  Wilson  frowned  involuntarily.  Yet, 
though  her  taste  was  offended  her  curiosity  was 
whetted. 

"But  wasn't  your — wasn't  he  man  enough  to 
look  after  you  and  provide  for  the  child?" 

"I  didn't  tell  him.  He  doesn't  know.  It  wasn't 
his  fault.  That  is" — she  paused  for  a  moment, 
but  her  expression  suggested  solicitude  lest  the 
naked  truth  should  be  disconcerting  rather  than 
shame — "I  took  the  chance.  Neither  of  us  in- 

170 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

tended  to  be  married.  He  travels  mostly,  and  is 
here  only  two  or  three  times  a  year.  What  would 
he  do  with  a  baby  anyway?" 

The  entrance  of  the  butler  with  the  tea  things 
was  opportune.  It  gave  Mrs.  Wilson  time  to 
think.  Her  experience  of  women  of  this  class  had 
been  considerable.  If  not  invariably  penitent,  they 
had  always  shown  shame  or  humble-mindedness. 
Here  was  a  new  specimen,  degenerate  and  appall 
ing,  but  interesting  to  the  imagination. 

While  the  servant  set  the  glittering,  dainty 
silver  service  on  the  table  at  his  mistress's  side  the 
girl  watched  her  and  him  with  obvious  curiosity 
and  a  mixture  of  disdain  and  fascination.  Now 
and  again  her  roving  eyes  took  in  the  exquisite 
surroundings,  then  reverted  to  the  face  of  her 
would-be  benefactress  as  to  a  magnet.  It  seemed 
to  be  the  triumph  of  a  desire  not  to  appear  worse 
than  she  really  was  which  made  her  speak  when 
they  were  alone,  and  Mrs.  Wilson,  still  in  search 
of  inspiration,  was  busy  with  the  tea-caddy. 

"I  wasn't  going  to  let  her  out  of  my  sight  until 
I  knew  she  was  safe."  She  nervously  compressed 
the  back  of  one  of  her  hands  with  the  long  fingers 
of  the  other  in  the  apparent  effort  to  justify  her 
course,  a  consideration  to  which  she  was  evidently 
not  accustomed.  "Wouldn't  she  have  had  a  better 
home  at  the  expense  of  the  State  than  any  I  could 
have  given  her?  And  there  was  the  chance  you 
might  take  a  fancy  to  her  and  adopt  her.  She's 
less  homely  than  the  average  new-born  young  one. 
You  see  I  thought  everything  over,  lady.  And 
next  to  its  dying  that  seemed  to  me  the  best  chance 
it  had  for  happiness  in  a  best  possible  world." 

171 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

""Ah,  but  you  mustn't  talk  like  that.  It's  hard, 
I  know,  egregiously  hard.  But  you  mustn't  be 
bitter,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  mandatory  kind 
ness. 

The  girl  smiled  in  a  superior  fashion;  it  was 
almost  a  sneer.  Her  desire  to  justify  herself  had 
been  an  involuntary  expression.  Now  vanity  in 
tervened,  vanity  and  the  pride  of  smouldering 
opinion.  "I'm  not  bitter;  I'm  only  telling  you 
the  plain  truth.  I'm  ignorant,  I  dare  say,  com 
pared  to  you ;  but  I'm  not  so  ignorant  as  you  think. 
I've  thought  for  myself  some;  and — and  all  I  say 
is  that  this  isn't  any  too  good  a  world  for  a  girl 
like  me  anyway,  and  when  a  girl  like  me  goes 
wrong,  as  you  call  it,  and  has  a  kid,  instead  of 
crying  her  eyes  out  the  sensible  thing  for  her  to 
do  is  to  find  someone  to  look  after  it  for  her." 

"Which  only  proves,  my  child,  that  such  a  thing 
ought  never  to  happen  to  her." 

"No — not  if  she  has  luck." 

There  was  a  brief  pause;  then  with  an  impulsive 
glide  Mrs.  Wilson  swept  across  the  room  and 
transferred  a  cup  of  tea  to  the  hands  of  this  wan 
derer  from  the  fold  of  grace  and  ethics.  The  girl, 
taken  off  her  guard,  tried  to  rise  to  receive  it,  and 
looked  at  her  with  the  half-fascinated  expression 
of  a  bird  struggling  against  the  fowler.  Sitting 
down  beside  her,  Mrs.  Wilson  took  one  of  her 
hands  and  said,  "Do  you  not  understand,  my  dear, 
that  society  must  insist  for  its  own  preservation 
that  a  woman  shouldn't  go  wrong?  The  whole 
safety  of  the  family  is  based  on  that.  That's  the 
reason  the  world  has  to  seem  a  little  cruel  to  those 
of  our  sex  who  sin  against  purity.  Children  must 

172 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

know  who  their  fathers  are."  She  had  these  pre 
cepts  in  their  modern  guise  at  the  tip  of  her  tongue ; 
she  hastened  to  add,  benignly,  "But  though  the 
world  in  self-defence  turns  a  cold  shoulder  on  the 
unchaste  woman,  for  her  who  seeks  forgiveness 
and  a  fresh  start  there  are  helping  hands  and  lov 
ing  words  which  offer  forbearance  and  counsel  and 
friendship." 

"But  supposing  I'm  not  seeking  forgiveness? 
That's  the  trouble,  lady.  If  only  now  I  were  a 
shame-faced,  contrite  sinner  down  in  the  dust  at 
the  foot  of  the  cross  asking  permission  to  lead  a 
new  life,  how  much  simpler  it  would  be  for  both 
of  us!" 

Mrs.  Wilson  gasped.  The  coolness  of  the 
sacrilege  disturbed  her  intellectual  poise.  The 
girl  might  have  been  speaking  of  an  invitation  to 
dinner  instead  of  the  redemption  of  her  soul  so 
casual  was  her  regret.  "That  is  where  you  be 
long;  that  is  where  you  must  come  in  order  to  find 
grace  and  peace,"  she  said,  in  an  intense  whisper. 

"I've  shocked  you." 

"Yes,  you've  shocked  me.  But  that  doesn't 
matter.  You  don't  realize  what  you're  saying. 
The  important  thing  is  to  save  you  from  yourself, 
to  cleanse  the  windows  of  your  soul  so  that  the 
blessed  light  of  truth  may  enter." 

The  girl  regarded  her  curiously,  nervously 
abashed  at  the  impetuous  kindness  of  this  prosely- 
tism.  "That's  what  I  meant  by  saying  I'd  thought 
some.  If  it's  church  doctrine  you  mean,  you'd 
only  be  disappointed.  It  may  help  people  like  you. 
But  for  the  working  people — well,  some  of  us  who 
use  our  wits  don't  think  much  of  it." 

173 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Though  Mrs.  Wilson  looked  profoundly 
grieved,  the  spiritual  melancholy  emanating  from 
her  willowy  figure  and  mobile  countenance  was 
charged  with  resolution  as  well  as  pity. 

"It  isn't  merely  church  doctrine  that  you  lack. 
You  lack  the  spirit  of  Christian  civilization.  Your 
entire  point  of  view  is  distorted.  You  are  blind, 
child,  utterly  blind  to  the  eternal  verities." 

The  girl's  dark  eyes  grew  luminous  in  response 
to  this  indictment,  but  a  deprecating  smile  trem 
bled  on  her  lip  in  protest  at  her  own  susceptibility. 

"What  is  it  you  want  me  to  do?"  she  said  at 
last. 

"To  begin  with,  I  wish  you  to  support  your 
child  as  a  woman  should.  You  brought  it  into  the 
world,  and  you  owe  to  the  helpless  little  thing  a 
mother's  love  and  care.  Will  you  tell  me  your 
name?" 

"Loretta  Davis." 

"And  what  has  been  your  employment?" 

"They  don't  know.  I  don't  want  them  to  know. 
I  gave  them  as  an  excuse  that  I  was  tired  of  the 
place." 

"I'm  not  asking  your  employer's  name.  What 
kind  of  work  was  it?" 

"I  was  assistant  cashier  in  a  drug  store." 

"And  before  that?" 

"I  answered  the  bell  for  a  doctor." 

"I  see.  I  don't  wish  to  pry  into  your  affairs; 
but  do  you  belong  here?  Are  your  parents  living?" 

"I  don't  mind  telling.  There's  not  much  to 
tell.  My  father  and  mother  are  dead.  I  was 
born  about  a  hundred  miles  from  here  and  at 
tended  the  public  school.  I  had  my  living  to  make, 

174 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

so  I  came  to  Benham  about  two  years  ago.  I  had 
acquaintances,  and  was  crazy  to  go  into  a  store. 
But  a  girl  who  came  from  the  same  town  as  I  was 
going  to  be  married,  and  got  me  her  place  to  look 
after  the  doctor's  bell  and  tidy  up.  He  was  a 
dentist.  He  lost  his  health  and  had  to  go  to  Col 
orado  for  his  lungs,  and  then  I  went  to  the  drug 
store.  That's  all  there  is  to  tell,  lady — that  is, 
except  one  thing,  which  doesn't  count  much  now." 
"You  might  as  well  tell  me  that  also." 
"Oh,  well,  I'd  been  thinking  of  training  to  be 
a  nurse  when  I  got  into  trouble.  I'd  got  used  to 
doctors  and  medicine,  and  they  told  me  I  had  the 
sort  of  hands  for  it."  She  exhibited  her  strong, 
flexible  fingers.  "If  I  had  got  rid  of  my  baby,  I 
was  going  to  apply  to  a  hospital.  So  you  see  I've 
got  some  ambition,  lady.  I  wanted  to  be  of  some 
use.  I'm  not  altogether  bad." 

"No,  no,  I'm  sure  you're  not.  I  understand 
perfectly.  And  the  baby  shan't  stand  in  the  way 
of  your  making  the  most  of  yourself.  I  will  ar 
range  all  that."  Mrs.  Wilson  spoke  with  fluent 
enthusiasm.  She  felt  that  she  had  discovered  the 
secret  of,  if  not  the  excuse  for,  the  girl's  callous 
ness.  Unwelcome  maternity  had  interrupted  the 
free  play  of  her  individuality  at  the  moment  when 
she  was  formulating  a  career,  and  as  a  modern 
woman  herself,  Mrs.  Wilson  understood  the  bit 
terness  of  the  disappointment.  It  gave  her  a  cue 
to  Loretta's  perversion,  so  that  she  no  longer  felt 
out  of  touch  with  her.  She  refrained  from  the 
obvious  temptation  of  pointing  out  that  a  nurse's 
best  usefulness  would  be  to  guard  her  tender  child, 
and  broached  instead  the  project  which  swiftly 

175 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

suggested  itself  the  moment  she  felt  that  she  had 
fathomed  the  cause  of  the  culprit's  waywardness. 

UI  know  just  the  home  for  you;  a  little  tene 
ment  in  the  Lincoln  Chambers.  The  rooms  are 
savory,  convenient,  and  attractive,  and  on  the  op 
posite  side  of  your  entry  lives  an  earnest,  interest 
ing  spirit,  a  woman  whose  husband  has  deserted 
her,  left  her  with  two  children  to  provide  for. 
She  will  be  glad  to  befriend  you,  and  you  will  like 
her.  I  happen  to  know  that  the  tenement  is  vacant, 
and  it  is  the  very  place  for  you." 

Loretta  had  listened  with  sphinx-like  attention. 
When  Mrs.  Wilson  paused  her  eyes  began  to 
make  another  tour  of  her  surroundings,  and  at  the 
close  of  her  remark  ignored  the  theme  of  conver 
sation. 

"I  never  was  inside  a  multi-millionaire's  house 
before.  That's  what  you  are,  ain't  it?" 

The  query  was  queer,  but  not  to  be  evaded. 
"I'm  a  rich  woman  certainly,  which  makes  it  all 
the  easier  for  me  to  help  you."  If  this  savored 
of  a  pauperizing  line,  which  was  contrary  to  Mrs. 
Wilson's  philanthropic  principles,  she  felt  that  she 
must  not  at  all  hazards  let  the  girl  slip  through 
her  fingers. 

"If  I'm  willing  that  you  should." 

"Of  course.  But  you  are,  I'm  sure  you  are. 
You're  going  to  trust  me  and  to  put  yourself  into 
my  hands." 

The  confidence  and  charm  of  this  fervor  sud 
denly  met  with  their  reward.  Loretta  had  held 
back  from  genuine  scruples,  such  as  they  were. 
Instinctive  independence  and  a  preconceived  dis 
trust  of  fine  ladies  had  kept  her  muscles  stiff  and 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

her  face  set,  though  she  felt  thrilled  by  a  strange 
and  delicious  music.  No  one  could  have  guessed 
that  it  was  only  the  habit  of  awkwardness  which 
restrained  her  from  falling  on  her  knees  in  an 
ecstasy  of  self-abasement,  not  from  an  access  of 
shame,  but  as  a  tribute  to  the  woman  whose  per 
sonality  had  captivated  her  against  her  will. 

"You  seem  to  take  a  heap  of  interest  in  me, 
don't  you?"  The  words  by  themselves  suggested 
chiefly  surprise,  but  the  sign  of  her  surrender 
showed  itself  in  her  eyes.  They  were  lit  suddenly 
with  an  intensity  which  overspread  her  counte 
nance,  bathing  its  matter-of-fact  smartness  in  the 
soft  light  of  emotion.  "I'm  willing  to  do  what 
ever  you  like,"  she  said. 


177 


XII 


IF  it  be  said  of  Gordon  Perry,  attorney  and 
counsellor-at-law,  that  he  was  loth  to  incur 
the  modern  epithet,  "crank,"  it  was  equally  true 
that  he  had  ideals  and  cherished  them.  He  be 
lieved  in  living  up  to  his  convictions.  At  the  same 
time  his  sense  of  humor  made  him  aware  that  to 
dwell  unduly  on  premeditated  virtue  is  the  pre 
rogative  of  a  prig,  and  that  it  is  often  wise  in  a 
workaday  world  to  yield  an  inch  if  one  would 
gain  an  ell.  His  form  of  yielding  was  apt  to  be 
genial,  thoughtful  consideration  of  the  other 
man's  point  of  view,  a  virtual  admission  that  there 
were  two  sides  to  the  case,  instead  of  flying  in  the 
face  of  his  opponent.  The  modern  American  re 
gards  this  tactful  moderation  as  essential  to  the 
despatch  of  business,  and  prides  himself  on  its 
possession.  It  is  the  oil  of  the  social  industrial 
machine.  Also  it  is  slippery  stuff.  One  is  liable 
to  slide  yards  away  from  one's  point  of  view  un 
less  one  plants  one's  feet  firmly.  It  is  so  much 
easier  to  follow  the  trend  than  to  resist  it.  The 
natural  tendency  of  those  not  very  much  in  earnest 
is  to  woo  success  by  dancing  attendance  on  the 
powers  which  are,  both  movements  and  men.  So 
convictions  become  palsied,  and  their  owners  mere 
puppets  in  the  whirl  of  human  activity.  For  the 
sake  of  fortune,  fame,  or  oftenest  for  the  sake  of 
our  bread  and  butter,  we  subscribe  to  theories  and 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

support  standards  which  we  suspect  at  heart  to  be 
unsound,  lest  we  fail  to  keep  step  with  the  class  to 
which  we  belong. 

How  to  preserve  his  poise  as  an  independent 
character  and  at  the  same  time  avoid  antagonism 
with  some  of  his  new  friends  had  become  inter 
esting  to  Gordon  Perry.  He  had  reached  a  point 
where  he  had  only  to  be  quiescent  in  order  to  reap 
presently  a  rich  harvest.  His  clear-headedness, 
his  quickness,  and  his  common  sense  had  been  rec 
ognized,  and  it  was  in  the  air  that  he  was  a  rising 
man  in  his  profession.  People  of  importance  had 
taken  him  up.  It  was  known  that  he  had  attended 
to  certain  matters  for  Paul  Howard,  from  whom 
it  was  only  one  step  to  the  source  of  many  gigan 
tic  undertakings  productive  of  fat  fees.  To  the 
eye  of  shrewd  observers  in  Benham  he  had  only 
to  go  on  as  he  had  been  going,  and  attend  strictly 
to  business,  in  order  to  emerge  from  the  ranks  of 
his  brother  lawyers,  and  become  one  of  the  small 
group  which  controlled  the  cream  of  the  legal  bus 
iness  of  the  city.  Instead  of  bringing  accident 
cases  he  would  defend  them  for  powerful  cor 
porations.  Instead  of  conducting  many  small  pro 
ceedings  at  an  expense  of  vitality  for  which  his 
clients  could  not  afford  and  did  not  expect  to  pay 
adequately,  he  would  be  employed  by  banks  and 
trust  companies,  would  organize  and  reorganize 
railroads,  be  made  the  executor  of  large  estates 
and  the  legal  adviser  of  capitalists  in  financial 
schemes  from  which  profits  would  accrue  to  him 
in  the  tens  of  thousands.  It  ought  to  be  com 
paratively  plain  sailing.  This  was  obvious  to  the 
man  in  question  as  well  as  to  his  contemporaries. 

179 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

He  knew  that  his  business  was  growing,  and  sun 
dry  rumors  had  reached  him  that  he  had  been 
spoken  of  in  inner  circles  as  skilful  and  level 
headed. 

To  indicate  the  current  which  ran  counter  in 
Gordon  Perry's  thoughts  to  his  appreciation  of 
these  possibilities  it  will  be  necessary  to  refer 
briefly  to  his  past  and  to  his  mental  perspective. 
He  was  the  son  of  a  widow.  Also  a  soldier's  son. 
His  father,  a  volunteer,  had  survived  the  Civil 
War,  and,  attracted  by  the  rising  destinies  of  Ben- 
ham,  had  made  his  home  there,  only  to  fall  vic 
tim  to  a  fever  within  a  year  of  his  corning.  Gor 
don  was  then  eleven  years  old.  A  policy  of  life 
insurance  kept  the  wolf  from  the  door  for  the 
afflicted  widow  so  far  as  a  bare  subsistence  was 
concerned.  She  had  a  small  roof  over  her  head, 
and  was  able  by  means  of  boarders  and  needle 
work  to  present  a  decent  front  to  the  world  while 
she  watched  over  her  sole  treasure,  her  only  child. 
Her  ambition  was  to  give  him  an  education,  and 
her  ambition  in  this  respect  was  neither  niggardly 
nor  ignorant.  He  was  to  have  the  best — a  col 
lege  training — and  to  give  him  this  it  delighted 
her  to  pinch  and  to  slave.  When  a  woman's  duty 
is  squarely  determined  by  responsibility  for  a 
fatherless  son,  it  is  comparatively  easy  for  her  to 
be  true  to  her  trust  to  the  extent  of  complete  de 
votion  and  unselfishness.  But  devotion  and 
unselfishness  do  not  include  wisdom.  Happy  for 
him  whose  mother  is  a  victim  neither  to  super 
stition  nor  to  silliness,  but  sees  life  with  a  clear, 
sane  outlook.  Mrs.  Perry  was  one  of  those  Amer 
ican  women  educated  in  the  days  of  Emersonian 

180 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

spirituality,  when  society  walked  in  the  lightest 
marching  order  as  regards  material  comforts  and 
embellishments,  who  were  austere  and  sometimes 
narrow  in  their  judgments,  but  who  set  before 
them  as  the  one  purpose  of  life  the  development 
of  character.  She  was  simple,  pious,  brisk,  and 
direct;  setting  great  store  on  acting  and  speaking 
to  the  point,  and  abhorring  compromise  or 
evasions.  In  her  religious  faith  she  believed,  as 
a  Unitarian,  about  what  liberal  Episcopalians  and 
Presbyterians  believe  to-day.  Doctrine,  however, 
appeared  to  her  of  minor  importance  compared  to 
the  pursuit  of  noble  aims  and  the  practice  of  self- 
control.  She  wished  her  son  to  care  for  the  high 
est  things,  those  of  the  spirit  and  the  intellect,  be 
cause  she  regarded  them  with  sincerity  as  the 
passports  to  human  progress;  and,  though  her 
aesthetic  aims  were  dwarfed,  and  human  color  and 
grandeur  may  have  seemed  to  her  to  smack  of 
degeneracy,  the  white  light  of  her  aspirations  had 
a  convincing  beauty  of  its  own. 

Under  the  influence  of  this  training  and  this 
point  of  view,  Gordon  went  to  Harvard.  There 
he  encountered  a  new  atmosphere.  The  old  gods 
were  not  dead,  but  they  seemed  moribund,  for 
there  were  others.  The  college  motto,  "Veritas," 
still  spoke  the  watchword  of  faith,  yet  the  lan 
guage  of  his  class-mates  led  him  to  perceive  that 
what  was  the  truth  was  again  in  controversy.  The 
Civil  War  was  over,  but  the  martial  spirit  which 
had  sprung  into  being  at  the  call  of  duty  and  love 
of  country  was  seething  in  the  veins  of  a  new  gen 
eration  eager  to  rival  in  activity  the  heroism  of 
its  fathers.  It  was  no  longer  enough  to  walk  in 

181 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

contemplation  beneath  the  college  elms  and  de 
velop  character  by  introspective  struggle.  Truth 
— the  whole  truth,  lay  not  there.  Was  not  useful, 
skilful  action  in  the  world  of  affairs  the  true  test 
of  human  efficiency?  A  great  continent  lay  open 
to  ingenious  youth  trained  to  unearth  and  master 
its  secrets.  How  was  it  to  be  conquered  unless  the 
spirit  of  energy  was  nourished  by  robust  frames, 
unless  men  were  practical  and  competent  as  well  as 
soulful? 

Gordon  listened  to  this  new  note  with  a  recep 
tive  ear,  and  recognized  its  value.  Hitherto  he 
had  thought  little  of  his  body,  which,  like  an  excel 
lent  machine,  had  performed  its  work  without  call 
ing  itself  to  his  attention.  Now  he  took  part  in 
college  athletics,  and  realized  the  exhilaration 
which  proceeds  from  healthful  competitive  exer 
cise.  Through  contact  with  his  mates,  and  active 
participation  in  the  affairs  of  the  college  world, 
he  experienced  also  the  still  more  satisfactory  glow, 
best  described  as  the  joy  of  life,  which,  partly 
physical,  partly  athletic,  had  never  been  a  portion 
of  his  consciousness.  He  was  drafted  for  the  foot 
ball  team,  and  by  his  prowess  and  his  pleasant, 
manly  style  acquired  popularity  in  the  college  so 
cieties,  that  fillip  to  self-reliance  and  proper  self- 
appreciation.  If,  as  a  consequence,  he  relaxed 
somewhat  his  efforts  to  lead  his  class  in  scholar 
ship,  which  had  been  his  sole  ambition  at  the  start, 
he  did  not  forget  that  he  was  a  pensioner  on  his 
mother's  self-sacrifice;  and  though  his  rank  at 
graduation  was  not  in  the  first  half-dozen,  it  was 
in  the  first  twenty-five,  and  it  could  be  said  of  him 
that  he  looked  fit  for  the  struggle  of  life,  the  pos- 

182 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

sessor  of  a  healthy  mind  in  a  well-developed  body. 
He  was  sophisticated,  but  his  soul  was  untarnished 
by  dissipation,  and  the  edge  of  his  enthusiasm  for 
enterprise  and  endeavor  was  not  dulled.  Then 
followed  three  years  at  the  law  school,  where  in 
common  with  nearly  everyone  he  worked  like  a 
beaver  to  equip  himself  for  his  profession.  There 
all  interests — it  might  be  said  all  emotions — were 
absorbed  in  contemplation  of  technical  training. 
But  he  was  still  under  the  shadow  of  the  Harvard 
elms,  and  the  great  world  lay  beyond,  a  land  of 
mysterious  promise  to  his  eager  vision. 

However  clear-sighted  and  philosophical  a  col 
lege  graduate,  his  first  actual  contact  with  the 
great  world  is  apt  to  be  depressing.  Society  seems 
so  large  and  so  indifferent;  he  is  so  insignificant 
and  so  helpless — he  who  six  months  ago  was  a 
hero  in  the  eyes  of  his  companions.  Especially  is 
this  apt  to  be  the  case  when  one  is  translated  from 
the  dizzy  democratic  heights  of  college  renown  to 
a  humble,  humdrum  social  station.  It  was  no 
revelation  to  Gordon  Perry  to  find  himself  the  son 
of  a  hard-working,  inconspicuous  boarding-house 
keeper,  but  it  sobered  him.  He  was  neither 
ashamed  of  the  fact  nor  dismayed  by  it.  On  the 
contrary,  the  sight  of  his  mother's  tired  face  and 
figure  subordinated  every  ambition  to  his  loving 
determination  to  conquer  the  world  for  her  sake. 
It  seemed,  however,  a  less  simple  matter  to  con 
quer  the  world  now  that  he  was  an  unknown  stu 
dent  in  a  law  office  in  a  large  city,  with  no  family 
influence  or  powerful  friends  to  abet  his  endeavors. 
For  the  first  few  years  his  lot  was  so  obscure  that 
the  contrasts  of  life  arrested  his  attention  as  they 

183 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

had  never  done  before,  though  as  a  subconscious- 
ness,  for  he  never  outwardly  paused  in  his  efforts 
to  become  indispensable  to  the  firm  of  lawyers  in 
whose  office  he  was.  He  beheld  acquaintances  in 
various  employments,  whose  mental  superior  he 
believed  himself  to  be,  put  in  the  direct  line  of 
preferment  through  pecuniary  or  social  influence, 
and  had  to  solace  himself  with  the  doctrine — also 
the  American  doctrine — that  it  was  every  man's 
privilege  to  make  the  most  of  his  own  advantages, 
and  his  duty  to  acknowledge  the  same  privilege  in 
others. 

Some  young  men  are  made  cynical  by  the  per 
ception  of  the  workings  of  free  competition; 
others  simply  thoughtful.  Gordon  was  among  the 
latter.  Life  presented  itself  to  him  from  a  new 
perspective,  and  if  it  suddenly  appeared  both  per 
plexing  and  distressing,  it  appeared  none  the  less 
interesting.  His  personal  dismay,  if  this  passing 
reaction  deserves  so  harsh  a  term,  was  transient, 
but  it  was  the  precursor  to  graver,  disinterested 
musings.  His  attention  once  arrested  by  the  in 
equalities  of  life  turned  further  afield  and  became 
riveted  by  concern  and  by  pity.  Why  in  this  city, 
established  under  free  institutions,  was  it  neces 
sary  that  thousands  should  be  living  in  poverty, 
ignorance,  and  social  ineffectiveness  if  not  degrada 
tion?  It  ought  not  to  be.  It  must  not  be.  How 
could  it  be  averted?  This  outburst  of  his  protest 
ing  spirit  encountered  the  query  of  his  dispassion 
ate  mind — what  remedy  do  you  suggest?  It  was 
like  a  douche  of  cold  water.  Instinctively  he 
reached  out  for  help.  He  knew  that  he  was  in 
search  of  truth  this  time,  but  he  abhorred  an  ignis 

184 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

'atuus.     He  began  to  ask  questions  and  to  read. 

There  were  various  answers  on  the  lips  of  those 

vhom  he  consulted,  for  the  question  seemed  to  be 

n  the  air.     Many,  and  there  were  among  them 

ome  whose  broad  shoulders,   free  carriage,   and 

prosperously  self-reliant   air   told  of  that  joy   in 

iving    and    practical,    world-conquering    serenity 

ypical  of  the  successful  man  of  the  present  gen- 

iration,  who  assured  him,  often  in  a  whisper,  as 

hough  it  were  a  confidence,  that  these  inequalities 

nust  always  exist.    Were  not  men's  abilities  differ- 

:nt,  and  would  they  not  always  be  so?     Was  it 

\  ust  that  one  man's  energy  and  skill  should  be  cur- 

ailed   to   keep    pace   with    another's    incapacity? 

What  would  become  of  human  individuality  and 

Brilliancy  if  everyone's  earning  and  owning  were 

;:o  be  circumscribed  by  metes  and  bounds,  and  we 

jvere  all  to  become  commonplace,  unimaginative 

!  slaves  of  socialism?     It  was  right,  of  course,  that 

existing  abuses  in  the  way  of  long  hours  and  in 

sufficient  pay  should  be  rectified.    That  was  on  the 

cards.     In  many  cases  it  had  been  already  con 

summated.     And  what  had  malcontents  or  critics 

pf  the  existing  industrial  system  to  say  to  the  long 

.ist  of  splendid  benefactions  —  free  libraries,   free 

jiospitals,  free  parks,  and  free  museums  —  given  to 

pie  community  by  rich  men  —  men  who  had  been 

ibler  and  more   progressive   than   their   fellows? 

Surely  the  world  would  be  a  dull  place  without 

jcompetition. 

There  were  others  who  declared  that  the  de 
struction  of  the  poor  was  their  poverty,  and  that 
the  poor  man  was  at  fault.  That  if  he  would  let 
iquor  alone,  have  fewer  children,  and  brush  his 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

teeth  regularly,  he  would  be  happy  and  prosper 
ous.  They  called  Gordon's  attention  to  the  many 
schemes  for  the  uplifting  of  the  industrial  masses 
which  were  already  in  operation  in  Benham, 
homes  for  abandoned  children,  evening  classes 
where  instruction  and  diversion  were  skilfully 
blended,  model  tenements,  and,  most  modern  of 
all,  college  settlements,  the  voluntary  transplant 
ing  of  individual  educated  lives  into  social  Saharas. 

The  books  which  he  read  were  of  two  classes. 
Their  writers  were  either  optimistic  apologists  for 
the  current  ills  of  civilization,  deploring  and  de 
precating  their  existence,  and  suggesting  the  grad 
ual  elimination  of  social  distress  by  education  and 
intelligent  humanity — "the  giving  of  self  unre 
servedly,"  as  many  put  it — without  serious  modi 
fication  of  the  structure  of  society;  or  they  were 
outspoken  enemies  of  the  present  industrial  status, 
alleging  that  poverty  and  degradation  were  an 
inseparable  incident  of  unchecked  human  compe 
tition,  and  that  these  evils  would  never  be  eradi 
cated  until  the  axe  was  applied  to  the  fundamental 
cause.  These  latter  critics  had  diverse  preliminary 
crucial  remedies  at  heart,  such  as  the  capitalization 
of  land,  government  control  of  railroads,  mines, 
and  other  sources  of  power,  or  the  appropriation 
to  the  use  of  the  community  of  a  slice  of  abnormal 
profits. 

Most  of  this  presentation,  whether  through 
men  or  from  books,  was  not  new  to  Gordon;  but 
it  had  been  hitherto  unheeded  by  him  and  had  the 
full  effect  of  novelty.  He  found  himself  staring 
at  a  condition  of  affairs  which  he  had  patriotically 
if  carelessly  supposed  could  not  exist  in  the  land 

186 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

if  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave  until  he 
juddenly  opened  his  eyes  and  beheld  in  full  opera 
tion  in  his  native  city,  of  which  he  was  becomingly 
proud,  those  grave  contrasts  of  station  common  to 
older  civiliations.    These  included  on  the  one  hand 
mot  only  the  uneducated  army  of  workers  in  Ben- 
ham's  pork  factories,  oil-yards,  and  iron  mills,  but 
[an  impecunious,  shiftless  lower  class;  and  on  the 
other  what  was,  relatively  speaking,  a  corporal's 
i  guard  of  wealthy,  wideawake,  luxurious,  ambitious 
masters  of  the  situation,  to  whom  he  hoped  pres 
ently  to  commend  himself  as  a  legal  adviser. 

But  what  was  the  remedy?  What  was  his 
remedy?  In  the  coolness  of  second  thoughts, 
after  months  of  ferment,  he  had  to  confess  that 
'he  had  none — at  least  none  at  the  moment.  Si 
multaneously  he  had  reached  the  further  conclusion, 
which  was  both  a  relief  and  a  distress,  that  what 
ever  could  be  done  must  be  gradual,  so  gradual  as 
to  be  almost  imperceptible  when  measured  by  the 
span  of  a  single  life.  He  recalled,  with  a  new  ap 
preciation  of  the  truth,  the  saying  that  the  mills 
of  God  grind  slowly.  From  the  vanguard  hope 
of  a  complete  change  in  current  conditions,  by  a 
series  of  telling  blows  of  his  own  conception,  he 
was  forced  back  to  a  modest  stand  behind  the 
breast-works.  Modest  because  he  began  to  ex 
amine  with  a  new  respect  the  philanthropic  and 
economic  apparatus  for  attack  already  in  position, 
which  he  had  at  first  glance  been  disposed  to  re 
gard  as  too  cumbersome  and  dilatory.  Here  was 
where  his  purpose  not  to  be  quixotic  and  visionary 
came  to  his  support.  He  realized  that  it  was  nec 
essary  for  him  to  wait  and  to  study  before  he  could 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

hope  to  be  of  service;  that  he  must  take  his  posi 
tion  in  the  ranks  and  observe  the  tactics  of  others 
before  attempting  to  assume  leadership  or  to 
initiate  reforms. 

One  effect  of  this  check  to  his  soaring  aspira 
tions  at  the  dictate  of  his  common  sense  was  to 
give  a  fresh  impetus  to  his  resolve  to  succeed  in 
his  profession.  For  a  brief  period  the  shock  of 
his  discoveries  had  been  so  stunning  that  he  almost 
felt  as  though  it  were  his  duty  and  his  mission  to 
devote  his  life  to  finding  a  remedy  for  the  ills  of 
civilization.  His  mother's  necessities  stood  as  a 
bar  to  this.  But  with  the  ebbing  of  his  vision  he 
found  himself  no  longer  beset  with  doubts  as  to 
the  legitimacy  of  his  apprenticeship.  It  seemed  to 
him  clearly  his  duty,  not  only  on  his  mother's  ac 
count  but  his  own,  to  throw  himself  into  his  work 
unreservedly  with  the  intention  of  hitting  the 
mark.  He  had  his  bread  to  earn,  his  way  to  make. 
How  would  it  profit  him  or  anyone  that  he  should 
forsake  his  calling  and  stand  musing  by  the  way 
side  merely  because  he  was  distressed  by  the  in 
equalities  of  the  industrial  system?  Inequalities 
which  existed  all  over  the  world  and  were  as  old 
as  human  nature.  He  had  no  comprehensive  cure 
to  suggest,  so  for  the  time  being  his  lips  were 
sealed  and  his  hands  tied  by  his  own  ignorance. 
And  if  conscience,  borrowing  from  some  of  the 
books  which  he  had  read,  argued  that  the  pros 
perous  lawyer  was  the  agent  of  the  rich  against  the 
poor,  the  strong  against  the  weak,  his  answer  was 
that  the  taunt  was  not  true,  and  his  retort  by  way 
of  a  counter-sally  was  that  in  no  country  in  the 
world  did  the  laboring  man  receive  so  high  wages 

188 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

as  in  this.  This  at  least  was  a  step  forward,  and 
so  he  felt  justified  to  follow  precedent  and  to  bide 
his  time. 

In  order  to  succeed  a  young  lawyer  must  be 
ceaselessly  vigilant.  It  is  not  enough  to  perform 
faithfully  what  he  is  told.  There  are  many  who 
will  do  this.  The  man  who  gets  ahead  is  he  who 
does  more  than  the  letter  of  his  employment  de 
mands,  who  anticipates  instructions  and  disregards 
time  and  comfort  in  order  to  follow  a  clue  of  evi 
dence  or  elucidate  a  principle.  So  he  becomes 
indispensable,  and  by  and  by  the  opportunity  pre 
sents  itself  which  the  shiftless  ascribe  to  luck. 
Gordon  Perry  revealed  this  faculty  of  indefati 
gable  initiative.  The  firm  in  whose  office  he  was 
a  student  had  a  large  business,  chiefly  in  the  line  of 
commercial  law.  The  transit  of  the  various  com 
modities  to  which  Benham  owed  her  prosperity 
was  necessarily  productive  of  considerable  litiga 
tion  against  the  railroads  as  common  carriers  and 
between  the  shippers  and  consignees  of  wares  and 
merchandise.  Besides,  there  were  constant  suits 
for  personal  injuries  to  be  prosecuted  or  defended, 
involving  nice  distinctions  as  to  what  is  negligence, 
and  bringing  in  their  train  much  practice  for  the 
juniors  in  the  investigation  of  testimony.  From 
the  outset  Gordon  worked  with  unsparing  enthu 
siasm,  seeking  to  do  the  work  entrusted  to  him  so 
thoroughly  that  those  who  tried  the  cases  would 
find  the  situation  clearly  defined  and  everything  at 
their  fingers'  ends.  When  it  was  perceived  that  he 
was  not  only  diligent  but  discerning  and  accurate, 
they  began  to  rely  on  him,  and  by  the  end  of  three 
years  the  responsibility  of  trying  as  well  as  of  pre- 
189 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

paring  the  less  important  proceedings  in  the  lower 
courts  became  his.  Also,  by  showing  himself 
solicitous  regarding  the  affairs  of  the  clients  of 
the  office,  he  was  able  now  and  again  to  supply 
information  or  tide  matters  over  when  the  mem 
ber  of  the  firm  inquired  for  was  out;  and  it  was 
not  long  before  some  of  them  formed  the  habit 
of  consulting  him  directly  in  minor  matters.  When 
at  the  end  of  five  years  the  senior  partner,  who 
had  independent  means,  retired  in  order  to  go  to 
Congress,  his  two  associates  came  to  the  conclu 
sion  that  it  would  be  good  policy,  as  well  as  just, 
to  give  Perry,  as  the  most  promising  young  man 
in  the  office,  a  small  interest  in  the  business.  This 
promotion  naturally  gave  him  a  new  status  with 
the  clients,  and  most  of  those  who  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  consulting  him  offhand,  now  laid  their 
serious  troubles  before  him.  So  by  the  time  he 
was  twenty-nine  he  was  well  started  in  his  profes 
sion,  and  able  to  extract  a  promise  from  his  mother 
that  if  he  continued  to  prosper  for  another  year, 
she  would  yield  to  his  solicitations  to  give  up  her 
boarders  and  move  into  a  brighter  neighborhood. 
Although  absorbed  in  his  profession,  Gordon's 
genial  charm  soon  brought  him  invitations  of  a 
social  nature.  He  became  a  member  of  a  law  club 
of  men  of  his  own  age,  which  met  once  a  month 
to  compare  impressions  and  banish  dull  care  over 
a  good  dinner.  Still  eager  for  exercise  he  joined 
a  rowing  club  on  the  river  Nye,  and  a  gymnasium. 
After  he  was  admitted  to  the  firm  he  had  his  name 
put  up  for  election  at  one  of  the  social  clubs,  The 
University,  so  called  because  its  members  were 
college  graduates.  Here  he  met  the  educated 

190 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

'oung  men  of  the  city,  and  though  his  mother  had 
.n  old-fashioned  prejudice  against  clubs,  as  aris- 
ocratic  resorts  where  men  gambled  and  drank 
nore  than  was  good  for  them,  Gordon  felt  that 
ic  needed  some  place  where  he  could  play  a  game 
>f  whist  or  billiards  with  congenial  spirits  or  look 
it  magazines  in  a  cosey  library  as  an  antidote  to 
lis  sterner  pursuits.  Mrs.  Perry  was  more  than 
milling  to  trust  her  son,  so  she  sighed  and  set 
lown  to  the  changed  temper  of  the  day  the  spread 
)f  Benham's  club  fever.  For,  like  other  progres- 
ive  cities,  Benham  was  fairly  honeycombed  with 
lubs.  The  American  social  instinct  had  become 
ilmost  daft  on  the  subject,  and  no  two  or  three 
nen  or  women  could  come  together  for  any  pur- 
)ost  without  organizing.  From  a  constitution  and 
)y-laws  the  road  was  apt  to  be  short  to  rooms  or 
i  clubhouse.  The  University  was  one  of  half  a 
lozen  of  the  purely  social  clubs  of  the  city,  a  spa- 
ious  establishment,  modelled  on  European  tra- 
litions  with  American  plumbing  and  other  modern 
omforts.  Gordon  was  prompted  to  join  by  Paul 
Howard,  who  declared  that  he  preferred  it  for 
genuine  enjoyment  to  the  Eagle  Club,  the  favorite 
•esort  of  the  very  rich  and  fashionable — the 
Spread  Eagle,  as  the  malicious  termed  it.  At  The 
Jniversity  there  was  secular  instrumental  music  on 
Sunday  afternoons,  a  custom  copied  from  Boston, 
hat  former  hotbed  of  ascetic  Sabbath  life,  and  on 
Saturday  nights  a  cold  supper  was  provided,  about 
jvhich  stood  in  pleasant  groups  the  active  profes 
sional  and  business  men  of  the  city  and  those  who 
:ollowed  the  arts — musicians,  painters,  and  lit- 
srary  men. 

191 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Exclusive  and  aristocratic  all  the  samee,"  said 
Hall  Collins,  contemptuously,  one  day  when  Gor 
don  vouchsafed  to  him  a  glowing  account  of  these 
Saturday  nights.  Hall  was  one  of  the  moving 
spirits  in  the  only  other  club  of  which  Gordon  was 
a  member,  The  Citizens'  Club,  the  somewhat  am 
bitious  title  of  an  organization  conducted  by  young 
men  interested  in  civic  and  industrial  reform,  not 
unlike  that  to  which  the  unhappy  Emil  Stuart  had 
belonged. 

"Which  only  shows  how  little  you  understand 
what  we  are  after,"  was  the  prompt  answer. 
"There  isn't  a  more  truly  democratic  place  in  the 
world — only  we  insist  that  a  man  should  win  his 
spurs  before  he  is  entitled  to  consideration.  A 
clod,  while  he  is  a  clod,  isn't  a  gentleman,  and  it 
isn't  good  American  doctrine  to  regard  him  as  one. 
No  logic  will  make  him  so.  You're  talking 
through  your  hat,  Hall,  and  you  know  it." 

Hall  grinned.  It  was  true  he  was  not  more  than 
half  in  earnest,  but  he  was  more  than  half  sus 
picious  of  Gordon.  He  could  not  make  him  out, 
which  nettled  him,  for  Hall  Collins  liked  to  have 
men  docketed  in  his  mind. 

"To  Gehenna  with  your  gentlemen!"  he  re 
torted.  "What  use  are  spurs  to  a  man  who  has  no 
boots  to  wear  them  on?" 

"Hear,  hear!"  interjected  two  or  three  by 
standers  whose  attention  was  caught  by  the  meta 
phor. 

"It  strikes  me,  young  man,"  pursued  Collins, 
who  had  his  chair  tipped  back,  his  feet  on  the 
table  and  was  smoking  a  fat  cigar  which  one  of 

192 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

I  the  aldermen  had  given  him,  appropriated  by  the 
!  wholesale  at  a  city  banquet,  "that  you're  trying 
to  ride  two  horses."  He  was  glad  to  have  an 
audience  to  the  discussion,  for  he  could  not  make 
I  up  his  mind  that  Gordon  was  sincere  in  his  inter 
est  in  the  Citizens'  Club,  and  he  feared  some  ulte 
rior  motive,  political  or  quasi-philanthropic. 

"Yes,  that's  just  what  I'm  doing,"  answered 
Gordon.  "Half  of  the  lack  of  sympathy  between 
the  educated  and  the  uneducated,  between  capital 
and  labor,  as  you  like  to  call  it,  lies  in  the  imagi 
nation.  What  is  there  incompatible  in  being 
a  member  of  a  club  like  this  and  wearing 
patent-leather  shoes  and  the  latest  thing  in 
.collars?" 

"It  smacks  too  much  of  college  settlements.  It 
doesn't  go  to  the  root  of  things." 

"But  it  helps  just  as  they  help,  unless  in  the 
ideal  democracy  you  are  aiming  at  there's  to  be 
no  place  for  the  refinements  of  life,  for  soft 
speech,  gentle  manners,  and  the  arts.  In  the  mil 
lennium  are  we  all  to  be  uncouth  and  unimagi 
native?" 

"Score  one  for  the  man  with  the  patent-leather 
shoes,  only  he  hasn't  got  them  on,"  exclaimed  one 
of  the  listeners. 

"You're  beginning  at  the  wrong  end.  You  put 
the  cart  before  the  horse;  that's  the  trouble  with 
you.  What's  the  use  of  decorating  a  house  that's 
going  to  be  struck  by  lightning?"  With  all  his 
prejudice  and  homely  exterior  Hall  Collins  was  at 
heart  no  demagogue  or  charlatan.  He  was  dead 
in  earnest  himself  and  he  wished  others  to  be.  He 

193 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

was  conversant  with  the  history  of  the  develop 
ment  of  trades-unions  over  the  world.  He  was  a 
student  of  humanitarian  reforms,  and  gave  all  the 
time  which  he  could  spare  from  his  occupation  as 
a  master-mason  to  the  furtherance  of  what  he  con 
sidered  legislative  progress. 

"Struck  by  lightning,  and  then  there's  no  house, 
only  ruins.  That's  not  what  you  desire,  Hall  Col 
lins,  you,  I,  nor  anyone  here.  We're  all  seeking 
the  same  thing,  and  we're  all  groping  more  or  less 
in  the  dark — putting  the  cart  before  the  horse, 
may  be.  But  you  haven't  any  panacea  for  what's 
wrong  more  than  I  have.  All  we  can  hope  to  do 
is  to  make  a  few  trifling  alterations  on  the  premises 
— paper  a  wall  or  enlarge  a  flue — before  our  lease 
expires.  The  chief  reason  I  joined  this  club  was 
that  I  might  stop  theorizing  and  wringing  my 
hands  and  get  down  to  business.  We  all  recog 
nize  there's  plenty  of  practical  work  waiting  for 
us,  so  what's  the  use  of  distrusting  each  other's 
theories  or  motives?  I've  no  Congressional  bee 
in  my  bonnet.  I'm  not  trying  to  climb  to  political 
prominence  on  the  shoulders  of  the  horny-handed 
Citizens'  Club." 

Hall  colored  slightly.  He  had  been  harboring 
just  that  suspicion. 

"Good  talk."  "Come  off  your  perch,  Hall. 
This  man  Perry's  all  right,"  was  the  response  of 
several  listeners.  The  group  was  now  a  dozen. 

Hall  took  his  feet  from  the  table,  stood  up  and 
put  out  his  hand.  "It  isn't  because  the  boys  say 
so,"  he  said.  "I'm  taking  you  on  your  own  word, 
Perry,  and  you'll  never  hear  me  peep  again. 
You've  the  right  idea;  it's  no  time  for  speculat- 

194 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ing,  for  there's  lots  of  business  to  be  done  right 
here  in  Benham.  And  if  I  had  a  notion  you  might 
be  masquerading — well,  there  have  been  cases 
where  men  in  patent  leathers  and  dandy  collars 
showed  up  strong  in  working-men's  clubs,  and  the 
only  business  they  ever  did  was  to  lay  and  pull 


wires." 


"Some  men  are  born  great,  some  achieve  great 
ness,  and  some  have  greatness  thrust  upon  them," 
said  Ernest  Bent.  "Hall  was  born  great,  but  if 
Don  Perry  wants  to  go  to  the  Legislature  why 
shouldn't  the  Citizens'  Club  send  him  there?" 

"That's  so,"  said  a  second. 

"Not  until  he  wins  those  spurs  he  spoke  of — 
bot  if  he's  the  man  I  take  him  to  be,"  exclaimed 
;  Collins,  doughtily. 

"Not  under  any  circumstances.  I  have  no  wish 
for  office.  I  don't  desire  to  be  a  politician."  Gor- 
lion  spoke  eagerly.  The  only  thought  in  his  mind 
Lvas  to  deprecate  the  suggestion.  It  was  true  that 
in  looking  over  the  field  there  had  seemed  to  him 
ilmost  a  glut  of  philanthropists,  and  he  had  chosen 
the  Citizens'  Club  as  a  more  promising  opening 
lhan  charitable  work.  But  his  ambition  was  only 
l:o  be  a  private  in  the  ranks. 

"And  yet,"  commented  Hall,  "what  should  we 
llo  without  politicians?  They  are  the  only  per 
sons  who  put  things  through,  and  laws  on  the 
Statute  books  are  what  we  need.  Look  at  this 
Idgar."  He  exhibited  the  butt  end,  which  was  all 
piat  was  left.  "The  man  who  gave  it  to  me  helped 
liimself  to  a  box,  and  the  only  thing  he  wouldn't 
help  himself  to  is  a  red-hot  stove,  but  I  didn't  spit 
In  his  face  and  I  smoked  his  cigar,  and  I  dare  say 

195 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

he'll  vote  for  some  of  our  batch  of  bills  because  I 
told  him  a  good  story.  It's  disgusting."  He 
threw  down  the  butt  and  trod  it  under  foot.  "The 
cardinal  sin  of  the  sovereign  people  is  their  igno 
rance.  Will  they  never  learn  not  to  send  dishonest 
men  to  represent  them?" 

"You  see  that  Hall  is  both  an  idealist  and  prac 
tical,"  said  Ernest  Bent  to  Gordon.  It  was 
through  Bent  that  Gordon  had  joined  the  Citizens' 
Club.  He  was  his  next-door  neighbor,  the  son  of 
an  apothecary,  and  had,  while  following  his  trade 
behind  the  counter,  read  books  on  the  science  of 
government,  and  the  rights  and  wrongs  of  man, 
with  excursions  to  Darwin  and  Huxley.  As  the 
result  of  bandying  opinions  from  time  to  time  he 
had  taken  Gordon  one  evening  to  a  meeting  of 
the  club,  and  subsequently  invited  him  to  become 
a  member.  Gordon  did  not  need  persuasion  to 
join.  It  seemed  to  him  just  the  opportunity  he 
had  been  looking  for  to  espouse  the  cause  which 
he  had  at  heart,  by  focussing  his  sympathies  on 
practical  measures.  He  recognized  that  the  club 
was  not  only  a  debating  body,  but  aimed  to  be  a 
political  force,  and  that  many  of  its  members  were 
expert  and  not  entirely  scrupulous  politicians.  But, 
on  the  other  hand,  in  spite  of  the  jaundiced  views 
of  some  of  those  who  harangued  the  meetings, 
Gordon  discerned  that  a  half-dozen  men  were 
really  in  control — among  them  Collins  and  Bent 
— and  that  they  were  guided  by  a  sincere  and  rea 
sonably  cautious  ambition  to  procure  scientific  re 
forms.  A  little  consideration  convinced  him  that 
he  was  glad  they  were  seeking  to  wield  political 
influence.  It  gave  the  effect  of  reality,  of  battle. 

196 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Academic  discussion  was  a  vital  prelude  to  well- 
considered  action,  but,  after  all,  as  Hall  Collins 
said,  the  only  thing  which  really  counted  was  law 
on  the  statute  books.  It  suited  his  manhood  to 
feel  that  he  was  about  to  fight  for  definite  issues. 


197 


XIII 

A'TER  eighteen  months  of  prosperity  the  law 
firm  into  which  Gordon  Perry  had  been  ad 
mitted  was  crippled  by  the  death  of  one  of  the 
two  other  partners.  The  survivor,  who  was  the 
junior  of  the  two,  and  decidedly  the  inferior  in 
mental  calibre  and  energy,  proposed  to  Gordon  to 
continue  the  firm  on  the  footing  of  two-thirds  of 
the  profits  for  himself,  and  appeared  pompously 
grieved  when  his  former  student  demurred  to  the 
terms.  Before  he  could  make  up  his  mind  to  a 
more  equable  division  Gordon  had  made  up  his  to 
separate  and  to  practise  alone.  While  Gordon 
did  not  have  a  very  high  opinion  of  his  partner's 
talents,  he  was  grateful  for  his  own  recent  promo 
tion,  and  was  aware  that  his  associate's  wise  coun 
tenance  and  seniority  combined  would  probably 
avail  to  control  the  cream  of  the  business — that 
brought  by  managers  of  corporations  and  success 
ful  merchants,  both  prone  to  distrust  youth.  But 
the  plan  of  setting  up  for  himself  was  tempting, 
especially  as  he  disliked  the  alternative  of  the 
lion's  share  going  to  a  lawyer  of  mediocre  ability, 
and  when  Paul  Howard  asked  why  he  did  not 
take  the  step  in  question,  and  intimated  that  he 
would  befriend  him  in  case  he  did,  Gordon  re 
solved  to  burn  his  bridges  and  make  the  plunge, 
or  in  more  correct  metaphor  to  hang  out  his  own 
shingle. 

198 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

As  he  had  expected,  there  was  at  first  a  slight 
lull  in  his  fortunes ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  was 
able  to  pocket  the  whole  income,  and  even  from 
the  outset  he  was  reasonably  busy.  Paul  How 
ard's  promise  was  fulfilled.  All  his  personal  and 
presently  some  of  the  firm  matters  were  placed  in 
Gordon's  hands,  and  the  two  men  met  not  infre 
quently  as  a  consequence.  At  Harvard  they  had 
been  acquaintances  rather  than  friends.  Their 
contact  on  the  foot-ball  team  had  inspired  respect 
for  each  other's  grit,  but  they  were  not  intimate. 
As  the  possessor  of  a  liberal  allowance,  Paul  had 
belonged  to  a  rather  frivolous  set,  notorious  in 
college  circles  through  lavish  expenditures,  which 
included  boxes  at  the  theatres  and  suppers  and 
flowers  for  the  chorus  girls.  Though  Gordon  was 
partial  to  comic  opera  himself,  he  had  regarded 
Paul  as  a  high  flyer,  and  Paul  in  his  turn  had 
pitied  Gordon  as  a  good  fellow  spoiled  by  being 
obliged  to  "grind."  When  they  met  again  in 
their  native  city  after  a  lapse  of  years,  each  was 
impressed  by  the  other's  improvement  and  found 
him  much  more  interesting  than  he  had  expected. 
Paul  had  toned  down.  His  spirits  were  less  flam 
boyant;  he  was  gay-hearted  instead  of  noisy,  and 
his  manner  had  lost  its  condescension.  On  his 
part,  Gordon  had  mellowed  through  contact  with 
the  world  and  was  more  easy-going  in  his  address, 
and  no  longer  wore  the  New  England  conscience 
in  his  nostrils.  They  met  first  by  chance  at  a  res 
taurant  at  noon,  and,  habit  bringing  them  to  the 
same  resort,  they  lunched  together  from  time  to 
time,  and  the  favorable  impression  was  strength 
ened  on  each  side. 


199 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Gordon  interested  Paul  because  the  former  was 
so  different  from  most  of  the  men  with  whom  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  associating,  and  yet  was,  so  to 
speak,  a  good  fellow.  The  true  creed  of  most  of 
Paul's  friends  when  reduced  to  terms,  was  sub 
stantially  this,  that  the  important  thing  in  life  is 
to  be  on  top,  that  in  America  every  one  has  a 
chance  and  the  best  men  come  to  the  front,  that 
success  means  money,  that  money  ensures  enjoy 
ment,  and  that  no  one  is  supposed  to  be  enjoying 
himself  or  herself  who  does  not  keep  feeding  the 
dynamo  of  conscious  existence  with  fresh  sensa 
tions  and  run  the  human  machine  at  full  pressure. 
There  were  necessary  corollaries  to  this,  such  as 
"the  devil  take  the  hindmost,"  uttered  consider 
ately  but  firmly;  "we  shall  be  a  long  time  dead," 
murmured  jocosely  but  shrewdly;  and  "the  cranks 
may  prevail  and  the  crash  come,  but  we  shall  be 
under  the  sod,"  spoken  philosophically,  with  a 
shake  of  the  head  or  a  sigh;  the  moral  of  it  all 
being  that  the  position  of  the  successful — that  is, 
the  rich — is  delectable  and  intoxicating,  and  the 
rank  and  file  are  expected  to  comport  themselves 
with  patriotic  and  Christian  resignation,  and  not 
interfere  with  the  free  workings  of  the  million- 
airium,  an  ingenious  American  substitute  for  the 
millennium. 

The  stock  market,  athletic  sports,  and  cocktails 
were  the  tutelary  saints  of  this  section  of  society. 
They  were  habitually  long  or  short  of  the  market 
from  one  or  two  hundred  to  several  thousand 
shares,  according  to  their  means.  They  followed 
feverishly  the  prevailing  fads  in  sport,  yachting, 
tennis,  polo,  rowing,  golf,  rackets,  hunting,  horse 

200 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

I 

shows  (as  now,  a  few  years  later,  "bridge,"  ping- 
!  pong,  and  the  deadly  automobile).  And  after 
exercise,  before  lunch  and  dinner,  and  on  every 
other  excuse,  they  imbibed  a  cocktail  or  a  whiskey 
and  soda  as  a  fillip  to  the  nervous  system.  They 
were  dashing,  manly-looking  fellows,  these  com 
panions  of  Paul,  ingenious  and  daring  in  their 
business  enterprises,  or,  if  men  of  leisure,  keen  and 
brilliant  at  their  games.  They  set  great  store  by 
physical  courage  and  unflinching  endurance  of 
peril  and  pain,  and  they  would  have  responded 
promptly  to  a  national  demand  for  troops  in  case 
of  war;  but  when  anything  arose  on  the  political 
or  social  horizon  which  threatened  to  disturb 
prices  on  the  stock  exchange  they  set  their  teeth  as 
one  man  and  howled  maledictions  at  it  and  its 
author,  though  it  bore  the  sign  manual  of  true 
progress.  In  short,  life  for  them  meant  a  bull 
market,  a  galaxy  of  competitive  sports,  and  per 
petual  novelty. 

In  turning  from  this  comradeship  and  point  of 
view  to  Gordon  Perry,  Paul  did  so  guardedly. 
That  is,  although  he  was  not  altogether  satisfied 
to  follow  the  current  in  which  he  found  himself, 
he  had  no  intention  of  being  drawn  into  the  eddies 
by  false  sentiment  or  of  rowing  up-stream  at  the 
dictates  of  envy  and  demagogism.  He  was  ready 
to  admit  that  the  policy  of  high-pressure  enjoy 
ment  and  acquisition  might  be  ethically  defective, 
but  he  did  not  propose  to  exchange  his  birthright 
for  a  mess  of  pottage  and  become  pious  or  philan 
thropic  on  sing-song  lines.  As  he  once  expressed 
it  to  Gordon,  some  two  years  after  the  latter  had 
set  up  for  himself,  between  the  hypocrites  and  the 

201 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

fools  it  was  a  comparatively  simple  matter  to 
charm  an  audience  with  a  psalm  tune  compounded 
of  the  Rock  of  Ages  and  the  Star-Spangled  Ban 
ner  until  it  passed  resolutions  against  the  rich  and 
in  favor  of  the  poor,  which  not  merely  confounded 
common  sense  and  subverted  justice,  but  gave  a 
sort  of  moral  sanction  to  the  small  lies,  the  sand 
in  the  sugar,  the  dirt,  the  superstition  and  the  slip 
shod  ways  which  distinguished  the  people  without 
brains  and  imagination  from  those  with. 

"We  might  divide  all  round,"  Paul  continued, 
"but  what  good  would  that  do?  I  might  move 
into  a  smaller  house,  sell  my  steam  yacht  and  all 
my  stable,  except  a  horse  and  buggy,  and  play  the 
Puritan,  but  what  good  would  that  do?  People 
would  laugh  and  my  wife  would  think  me  crazy. 
I  tell  you  what,  Don,  we — I  mean  the  crowd  I  run 
with — may  be  a  grasping,  extravagant,  gambling, 
sporting,  strenuous  lot,  but  we  trot  square.  There's 
no  sand  in  our  sugar,  and  when  there's  music  to 
be  faced  we  don't  run  away,  squeal  or  delude  our 
selves.  But  I've  sworn  off  cocktails  for  good.  I 
began  yesterday.  And  I'm  going  to  keep  my  eye 
on  you,  Don.  I  don't  promise  to  follow  you, 
but  I'm  interested.  When  you  get  your  plans  in 
working  order  let  me  look  at  them.  I  may  be  able 
to  syndicate  them  for  you,  even  though  I  have  to 
shock  my  conservative  father  in  the  process.  By 
the  way,  do  you  happen  to  need  a  stenographer? 
She's  said  to  know  her  business.  And  this  one  is 
in  your  line,  too." 

Gordon  had  been  conscious  lately  that  his  work 
required  another  clerk.  "In  my  line?" 

"Yes.  A  tale  of  woe.  She's  a  protegee  of  my 
202 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

aunt's,  and  needs  a  helping  hand.  A  widow  with 
two  small  children.  Good  looking,  too,  I  believe. 
Mrs.  Wilson  has  had  her  taught  until  she  can  play 
the  type-writer  like  a  learned  pig,  and  take  down 
your  innermost  thoughts  in  shorthand.  And  now 
the  woman  insists  on  being  thrown  down  hard  on 
her  own  resources,  like  a  good  American.  We 
haven't  a  vacancy,  unless  I  invent  one;  and  it  oc 
curred  to  me  that  you  must  have  work  enough  for 
a  second  stenographer  by  this  time." 

"I'll  try  her." 

"Thanks.  One  good  turn  deserves  another. 
I'll  tell  my  aunt  that  she  ought  to  ask  you  to  dine; 
and  then  if  you  don't  give  her  to  understand  that 
her  will  is  all  wrong  and  should  be  drawn  over 
again  the  fault  will  be  yours." 

"Bankers  may  advertise  their  wares  in  the  shop 
windows,  but  a  self-respecting  lawyer  may  only 
look  wise.  He  must  hold  his  tongue  until  he  is 
consulted." 

"Squat  in  his  office,  eh,  like  a  spider  waiting 
for  flies?  But  you  ought  to  know  my  aunt  all  the 


same." 


"I  should  like  to  immensely,"  said  Gordon. 

"She's  not  like  the  rest  of  the  family;  she  be 
longs  to  a  different  flight.  My  father  has  brains 
and  force.  It's  not  easy  to  equal  him  in  those. 
He  hasn't  had  time  though  to  sort  his  ideas  and 
tie  them  up  in  nice  white  packages  with  crimson 
bows  or  to  polish  anything  except  his  wits.  But 
Aunt  Miriam  goes  in  for  the  perfect  life.  That's 
what  she  has  in  her  mind's  eye.  You  would  suit 
her  to  death,  Don.  You  ought  to  be  pals.  She's 
absorbed  in  reforms  and  aesthetic  mission  work, 

203 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

and  she  has  a  fine  scent  for  national  tendencies, 
and  there's  no  telling  but  you  might  each  get 
points  from  the  other." 

Gordon  laughed.     "You  flatter  me,  Paul." 

"No,  I  don't.  You're  not  alike.  You're  both 
aiming  at  the  same  thing,  I  suppose;  but  your 
ways  are  different.  And  you  can't  very  well  both 
be  right.  You  may  not  be  pals  after  all.  You 
may  disagree  and  fight.  Come  to  think  of  it,  I 
shouldn't  be  in  the  least  surprised  if  you  did.  A 
pitched  battle  between  Gordon  Perry  and  Mrs. 
Randolph  Wilson  would  be  worth  watching." 
Paul  chuckled  mirthfully  at  the  conception.  "I'm 
not  quite  sure  which  of  you  I  would  back." 

"And  now  you're  enigmatic,  not  to  say  ab 
surd." 

"Wait  until  you  get  to  know  her;  then  you'll 
understand.  I  should  only  tie  myself  up  in  a  bow- 
knot  trying  to  explain.  Her  daughter's  marriage 
gave  Aunt  Miriam  her  head.  If  ever  there  was  a 
case  of  disappointment,  Lucille  was  one.  Aunt 
Miriam  had  intended  her  to  be  a  model  of  aesthet 
ic  sweetness  and  light,  a  sort  of  Matthew  Arnold 
girl  with  American  patent  electrical  improve 
ments,  but  she  must  have  been  changed  at  birth. 
Lucille  has  her  good  points — I'm  fond  of  her — 
but  it's  a  matter  of  utter  indifference  to  her 
whether  the  world  improves  or  not  provided  she 
has  what  she  likes.  She  must  have  been  a  constant 
jar  to  her  mother.  Yet  I  never  heard  a  whimper 
from  Mrs.  Wilson.  My  aunt  had  no  particular 
use  for  Clarence  Waldo;  yet  when  the  thing  was 
settled  one  could  never  have  guessed  from  her 
manner  that  she  was  not  to  be  the  mother-in-law 

204 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

of  Lord  Rosebery  or  of  the  author  of  the  great 
American  novel.  But  now  that  her  mission  as  a 
mother  is  fulfilled,  look  out  for  storm  centres  in 
the  upper  lake  region  of  high  ideas  and  fresh 
winds  in  reform  circles.  By  the  way,  the  Waldos 
are  in  this  country  again,  and  are  to  pass  the  sum 
mer  at  Newport.  My  wife  says  that  we  are  to  go 
there  too,  with  a  new  steam  yacht  and  all  the 
latest  appliances  for  cutting  ice.  So  you  see,  I 
couldn't  play  the  Puritan  and  the  American  hus 
band  in  the  same  act." 

As  a  result  of  this  conversation,  Constance 
Stuart  obtained  employment  in  Gordon  Perry's 
office.  When  she  presented  herself  he  recognized 
her  with  surprise  as  the  client  whose  scrupulous 
purpose  he  believed  he  had  divined,  though  she 
had  given  no  clue  to  her  instructions.  He  realized 
that  he  was  predisposed  in  her  favor,  so  that  she 
scarcely  needed  the  letter  of  encomium  from  Mrs. 
Wilson,  which  he  paused  to  read,  chiefly  be 
cause  of  its  chirography  and  diction.  He  observed 
that  both  her  face  and  figure  were  a  little  fuller 
than  when  he  had  seen  her  last,  which  was  be 
coming,  and  that  she  was  more  trigly,  though 
simply,  dressed.  It  was  clear  that  she  had  risen 
from  the  ashes  of  her  adversity,  and  was  deter 
mined  to  put  her  best  foot  forward.  And  what 
an  attractive  voice  and  fine  eyes  she  had.  As  he 
looked  at  her  he  said  to  himself  that  she  was 
qualified  for  the  position  as  one  in  a  thousand;  the 
sort  of  woman  who  would  understand  without  be 
coming  obtrusive,  who  would  be  neither  a  machine 
nor  a  coquette;  and  though  she  was  a  novice,  the 
endorsement  was  explicit  on  the  score  of  her 

205 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

capacity.  Gordon  felt  that  she  would  give  a  new 
atmosphere  to  his  office. 

Constance,  on  her  part,  was  pleased  to  encoun 
ter  one  not  wholly  a  stranger.  Though  she  had 
acquired  deftness  in  her  work,  she  felt  nervous  at 
actual  responsibility,  and  the  memory  of  the  law 
yer's  kind  eyes  and  frank  smile  gave  her  assur 
ance.  As  she  saw  him  again  she  was  sure  that  he 
would  be  considerate  and  reasonable.  Mrs.  Wilson 
had  spoken  of  an  opening  in  Mr.  Howard's  office, 
where  she  would  be  one  of  a  roomful  of  type 
writers,  but  she  was  glad  now  that  this  oppor 
tunity  had  been  offered  her  instead.  There  would 
be  less  excitement  and  less  contact  with  the  hurly- 
burly  of  large  events,  and  less  chance  for  promo 
tion  and  for  better  pay  in  case  she  proved  profi 
cient.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  she  believed  that 
she  would  find  here  a  secure  and  agreeable  haven 
where  she  could  do  her  best  with  self-respecting 
faithfulness  and  support  her  children  suitably. 
As  she  arranged  her  small  effects  in  the  desk  pro 
vided  for  her,  she  concluded  already  that  she  was 
very  fortunate. 

Just  a  year  had  passed  since  Constance  had  begun 
her  new  life  in  Lincoln  Chambers,  and  the  impulse 
of  that  new  life  may  be  said  to  have  dated  from 
her  visit  to  Mrs.  Randolph  Wilson.  From  that 
interview  and  that  house  she  had  brought  away 
encouragement  and  inspiration.  The  text  of  the 
value  of  the  spirit  of  beauty  possessed  her  soul 
with  the  ardor  of  a  new  faith.  Suddenly  and  with 
captivating  clearness  it  had  been  revealed  to  her 
that  the  external  fitness  of  things  is  a  fact  and  not 
to  be  ignored,  and  that  the  purely  introspective, 

206 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

subjective  vision  sees  only  half  the  truth  of  ex 
istence.  She  perceived  that  she  had  been  content 
with  rectitude,  and  unadorned  plainness;  that  she 
had  been  indifferent  and  blind  to  color,  variety, 
and  artistic  excellence.  It  was  as  though  she  had 
been  nourished  on  skimmed  milk  instead  of  cream, 
as  though  her  diet  had  been  a  monotonous  simple 
regimen  without  a  lucious  ingredient. 

To  begin  with,  she  had  turned  her  thought  to 
her  own  home,  where  cleanliness  and  order  ruled, 
but  where  she  had  hitherto  refrained  from  other 
than  haphazard  efforts  at  pleasing  effects.  Her 
idea  had  been  to  be  comfortable  and  decent,  and 
to  let  the  rest  take  care  of  itself,  but  now  the  am 
bition  was  awakened  to  impart  taste  to  her  sur 
roundings.  To  her  satisfaction  she  found  that  this 
was  not  difficult  to  accomplish  even  with  her 
modest  resources,  as  her  mentor  had  predicted. 
Her  woman's  intelligence  and  native  refinement 
reinforced  her  aroused  interest,  and  by  altering 
the  angles  and  position  of  her  furniture,  and  by 
introducing  a  few  spots  of  color  to  enliven  the 
monotony  of  her  rooms  she  was  able  to  effect  a 
modest  transformation  delightful  to  her  own  eyes. 
To  plant  flowers  in  boxes  for  her  windows  and  to 
arrange  the  few  pictures  she  owned  to  advantage 
was  the  next  step.  The  modern  design  of  her 
apartment  lent  itself  to  her  efforts,  as  though  its 
newness,  its  modern  tiles  and  its  wall-papers  were 
in  league  against  dull  commonplaceness,  and  it 
seemed  to  her  presently  almost  horrible  that  she 
had  remained  indifferent  for  so  long  to  the  neces 
sity  of  external  appearances,  absorbed  in  the 
processes  of  introspection.  When  she  and  Emil 

207 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

had  married  her  predominant  impulse  had  been  to 
be  a  good,  loving  wife  to  him,  and  to  make  his 
home  inviting  by  her  cheerfulness  and  tact.  The 
new,  clean  house  had  seemed  to  her  pretty  in 
itself,  and  she  had  taken  for  granted  that  the  sets 
of  furniture,  the  carpets,  and  other  household 
goods,  bought  hastily,  could  not  fail  to  set  it  forth 
to  advantage.  They  were  substantial,  fresh,  and 
paid  for,  and  in  her  happiness  it  had  not  occurred 
to  her  to  bother  further.  To  do  so  would  have 
seemed  to  savor  of  undue  worldliness.  Now  how 
far  away  appeared  that  time  of  joyful  ignorance, 
and  how  foreign  to  her  present  sophistication  its 
artless  outlook.  She  had  deemed  herself  cultivated 
then,  and  later,  in  the  stress  of  her  misfortunes, 
had  cherished  thoughtful  simplicity  as  the  essence 
of  personal  refinement,  the  life-buoy  to  which  she 
clung  amid  the  waste  of  waters.  By  the  light  of 
experience  it  was  plain  that  she  had  starved  her 
self  and  eschewed  as  effete  or  unimportant  that 
which  was  wholesome  and  stimulating.  The  same 
impulse  led  her  to  take  a  new  interest  in  her  own 
personal  appearance,  to  arrange  her  hair  taste 
fully,  to  consider  a  little  what  colors  suited  her 
best,  and  in  various  simple  ways  to  make  the  most 
of  her  own  personal  advantages  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life.  Not  in  the  spirit  of  vanity,  but  in 
acknowledgment  that  she  had  too  much  neglected 
the  temple  of  the  body.  And  not  only  in  respect 
to  beauty  in  the  outward  manifestations  of  every 
day  life  did  she  feel  that  she  had  been  blind  to 
what  existence  offered,  but  where  art  touched  re 
ligion.  She  was  able  to  approach  faith  from  a 
new  point  of  view ;  to  wrap  her  naked  intellectual 

208 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

communion  with  the  garment  of  the  church  prop 
erties — to  yield  herself  to  the  spell  of  the  solemn 
architecture,  the  new  stained-glass  windows,  the 
artistic  reredos,  and  the  vested  choir  of  St.  Ste 
phen's — without  suspicion  or  doubt.  Her  life  had 
lacked  the  impulse  of  art,  and  in  finding  it  she  be 
lieved  that  she  had  discovered  the  secret  of  a 
closer  approach  to  God. 

She  sought  by  zeal  to  make  atonement  to  Mr. 
Prentiss  for  her  past  deficiencies.  It  did  not  ap 
pear  to  her  essential  to  recant  her  errors  formally; 
indeed,  she  did  not  do  so  to  herself,  for  in  re 
spect  to  certain  dogmas  and  supernatural  claims 
of  the  creed  she  had  not  disowned  her  indepen 
dence  of  thought.  That  which  she  wished  to  dis 
own  unmistakably  was  the  coldness  of  her  atti 
tude  toward  spiritual  things ;  she  wished  her  rector 
to  realize  that  heart  was  predominating  over 
mind,  and  that  trusting,  ardent  worship  had  taken 
the  place  of  speculative  lip  service.  A  sermon  by 
Mr.  Prentiss  came  in  the  nick  of  time  to  further 
this  attitude.  It  was  on  the  essentials  of  the  re 
ligious  faith,  and  he  defined  them  as  the  spirit  of 
Christian  brotherhood  and  love  through  man  to 
God.  Although  he  did  not  in  terms  disparage  the 
importance  of  the  dogmas  and  traditions  of  the 
church,  the  impression  left  on  Constance  was  that 
he  had  passed  them  by  as  embodying  the  an 
tiquated  letter,  but  not  the  modern  temper  of 
Christian  doctrine.  To  her  eager  imagination 
the  doubts  which  had  harassed  her  in  the  past  con 
cerning  the  truth  of  the  miracles,  and  kindred 
scriptural  deviation,  from  the  natural  order  of  the 
universe  were  reduced  to  trivial  importance.  In- 

209 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

stead  of  stumbling-blocks  to  faith,  they  had  be 
come  objects  of  secondary  interest,  to  one  side  of 
the  high-road  along  which  the  Christ-life  was 
leading  mankind. 

How  better  could  she  manifest  this  change  of 
mood  to  Mr.  Prentiss  than  by  devotion  to  church 
work?  She  became  a  teacher  in  the  Sunday- 
school  in  the  Church  of  the  Redeemer,  the  mis 
sion  church  connected  with  St.  Stephen's,  joined 
once  more  a  Bible-class  under  her  rector's  instruc 
tion,  and  undertook  to  befriend  some  poor  fam 
ilies  less  fortunate  than  herself  on  the  parish  lists. 
But  her  dearest  service  was  to  help  to  deck  the 
church  for  the  great  Christian  festivals,  Christ 
mas  and  Easter.  To  arrange  the  evergreen  and 
mistletoe,  the  profusion  of  lilies  and  roses,  humbly 
and  under  the  guidance  of  those  versed  in  such 
matters,  but  with  devoted  hands,  gave  her  a 
chance  to  ventilate  the  new  poetry  of  her  soul. 
She  had  become  enamored  of  the  charm  of  flow 
ers;  she  delighted  in  the  swell  of  the  organ  and 
the  melodious  chants  of  the  rejoicing  choir.  Her 
willing  fingers  quickly  became  skilful.  At  the 
second  Easter  she  was  even  appealed  to  on  minor 
points  of  taste  by  some  of  her  fellow-workers,  so 
that  Loretta  Davis,  who  was  standing  by  holding 
smilax,  nudged  her  as  a  sign  of  congratulation, 
for  she  had  represented  herself  to  Loretta  as  a 
complete  novice  in  such  matters.  Very  grateful 
and  inspiriting  to  Constance  was  Mrs.  Wilson's 
voluntary  tribute  on  the  same  evening  that  she 
had  been  of  notable  service.  Mrs.  Wilson  was 
the  presiding  genius  and  lady  bountiful  of  these 
festivals,  especially  on  Easter  Day.  It  was  she 

210 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

who  said  yearly  to  Mr.  Prentiss,  "Date  plenis 
lilia,"  and,  acting  on  that  cue,  gave  orders  to  the 
florists  to  exhaust  the  green-houses  of  the  neigh 
borhood,  and  to  spare  neither  expense  nor  pains 
to  make  St.  Stephen's  the  most  beautiful  sanctu 
ary  in  Benham.  It  was  she  who  organized  and 
tactfully  controlled  the  large  committee  of  ladies 
whose  annual  labor  of  love  it  was  to  dress  the 
church.  It  was  she  who  oversaw  and  checkmated 
the  commonplace  intentions  of  the  professional 
decorators  employed  to  fasten  festoons  and  clus 
ters  beyond  the  reach  of  ladylike  gymnastics;  and 
it  was  she  who  originated  or  set  the  seal  of  ap 
proval  on  the  artistic  scheme  of  design  adopted 
by  the  committee. 

Mrs.  Wilson  had  had  several  triumphs  as  a 
consequence  of  the  freedom  afforded  her  by  her 
daughter's  marriage,  but  nothing  had  given  her 
more  satisfaction  than  the  progress  of  Loretta 
Davis's  redemption  through  association  with  Con 
stance.  She  had  jumped  at  the  idea  of  placing 
the  wayward  girl  in  the  opposite  tenement,  feeling 
that  the  experience  would  be  a  blessing  to  both 
women ;  that  it  would  provide  Loretta  with  a  sym 
pathetic  fellow  struggler  and  example,  and  give 
Mrs.  Stuart  the  self-respecting  occasion  to  help  as 
well  as  to  be  helped.  Still  it  was  an  experiment 
until  tried,  the  success  of  which  could  not  be  taken 
for  granted. 

That  their  relations  had  become  sympathetic 
was  due  mainly  to  Constance.  In  her  present 
mood  the  unfortunate  girl  seemed  to  have  been 
sent  to  her  as  an  opportunity  for  Christian  useful 
ness,  as  a  test  of  her  own  spiritual  regeneration. 

211 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Here  was  the  best  chance  of  all  to  show  her 
changed  heart  to  her  rector.  Her  recognition 
from  the  outset  that  Loretta  was  distasteful  to 
her,  and  her  shrinking  not  only  from  the  girl's 
attitude  toward  sin  but  from  her  smart  matter-of- 
fact  personality  served  merely  as  a  spur  to  her 
own  zeal.  She  would  win  her  over  and  be  won 
over  herself;  she  would  unearth  the  palpitating 
soul  of  which  Mrs.  Wilson  had  confided  to  her 
that  she  had  caught  a  glimpse,  and  teach  her  to 
reassert  and  develop  her  womanhood.  Help  came 
unexpectedly  from  Loretta  herself  after  the  ice  of 
acquaintance  was  broken  and  the  two  women 
found  themselves  close  neighbors.  Constance  was 
attracted  by  the  keenness  of  her  intelligence  which, 
though  Loretta  was  ignorant  and  undisciplined, 
was  apt  to  go  straight  to  the  mark  on  the  wings 
of  rough  but  pungent  speech.  It  conciliated  Con 
stance  to  discover  this  trait,  for  she  shrank  from 
self-deception  as  a  moral  blemish  and  one  more 
typical  of  women  than  of  men.  The  girl's  direct 
ness  awoke  an  answering  chord.  A  clear  head  re 
moved  half  the  difficulty  of  the  situation,  and 
held  out  the  hope  that  wise  counsel  would  not 
be  lost. 

Loretta  made  no  mystery  of  her  circumstances. 
She  told  the  story  of  her  shame  with  matter-of- 
fact  glibness  as  an  every-day  incident  in  human 
life,  lamentable  possibly  on  conventional  grounds, 
but  not  to  be  judged  harshly  by  the  discerning, 
among  whom  she  chose  to  place  Constance.  The 
thing  had  happened,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be 
said  or  done  but  make  the  best  of  it — which  now 
included  the  baby. 

"She  wanted  me  to  keep  it,  and  I  said  I  would, 
212 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

and  that  I'd  come  and  live  here  and  see  how  I 
liked  it.  I  shocked  her  and — well,  I  had  never 
talked  with  anyone  just  like  her  before.  She 
seemed  set  on  my  living  here,  so  I  thought  I'd 

try-" 

"She"  was  always  Mrs.  Wilson.  This  was 
Loretta's  invariable  way  of  referring  to  her,  as  if 
there  could  be  no  question  who  was  meant.  She 
talked  of  her  constantly,  with  an  eager  yet  shy 
interest,  which  promptly  revealed  to  Constance 
how  matters  stood.  Loretta  had  taken  up  her 
duties  as  a  mother  and  subordinated  her  own 
wanton  theories  to  please  Mrs.  Wilson.  This 
was  the  bond  which  held  her,  not  religion  or  the 
qualms  of  self-respect.  Yet  it  was  a  bond,  and 
Constance  recognized  it  as  one  to  be  cherished. 
To  hear  this  woman,  so  bold  and  indelicate  in 
every-day  speech,  ask  questions  concerning  her  di 
vinity  with  a  shyness  not  unlike  that  of  a  bashful 
lover  was  interesting.  Was  not  she  herself  under 
the  influence  of  the  same  charm?  Was  not  this 
infatuation  another  tribute  to  the  power  of  the 
spirit  of  beauty?  Thus  Constance  felt  that  she  had 
a  clue  to  her  new  companion's  nature,  which  she 
did  her  best  to  utilize.  So  it  happened  that  Loret 
ta  went  to  church  because  she  could  catch  a  glimpse 
of  Mrs.  Wilson  from  where  they  sat;  and  Loret 
ta  took  a  new  interest  in  her  baby  from  the  hour 
when  Mrs.  Wilson  sent  her,  tied  up  with  a  pretty 
ribbon,  a  little  embroidered  infant's  jacket  bought 
at  a  fair;  and  Loretta  helped  to  deck  St.  Stephen's 
at  Easter  because  of  the  chance  that  Mrs.  Wilson 
would  speak  to  her,  as  of  course  she  did.  Con 
stance  found  herself  a  silent  but  zealous  conniver 
and  accomplice;  and  it  impressed  her  that  the  ob- 

213 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ject  of  devotion  seemed  instinctively  aware  both 
of  it  and  the  girl's  need,  for  every  now  and  then 
Mrs.  Wilson  would  make  the  occasion  by  a  few 
words,  a  note,  a  visit  or  a  gift  to  lift  Loretta  above 
the  level  of  her  own  devices.  For  just  as  Antaeus 
gained  strength  by  contact  with  the  earth,  Loret- 
ta's  spirit  seemed  to  crave  the  inspiration  of  Mrs. 
Wilson's  gracious  patronage. 

Though  slap-dash  and  over-confident  in  her 
ways,  Loretta  was  capable  and  quick  to  adopt  and 
to  perform  skilfully  whatever  appealed  to  her. 
Her  experience  as  a  cashier  in  a  drug  store  had 
given  her  a  lingo  and  a  certain  familiarity  con 
cerning  modern  remedies,  and  she  had  a  natural 
aptitude  with  her  hands.  Some  of  the  maternal 
hygienic  niceties  practised  by  Constance  appeared 
to  amuse  her  at  first,  but  as  she  became  more  in 
terested  in  her  baby,  she  outdid  her  neighbor  in 
pharmaceutical  experiments  with  powder,  oil,  per 
fume,  and  whatever  she  thought  likely  to  make 
her  child  a  savory  specimen  of  babyhood.  When 
the  child  was  a  year  old,  Mrs.  Wilson  made  good 
her  promise  that  Loretta  should  be  instructed  in 
nursing  by  securing  her  admission  to  a  hospital. 
At  the  same  time  she  engaged  another  of  her 
wards,  a  responsible,  elderly  woman,  to  take  up 
her  abode  in  Loretta's  tenement,  and  it  was  ar 
ranged  that  this  custodian  should  also  tend  Con 
stance's  children  during  their  mother's  absence 
down-town.  How  to  guard  her  children  properly 
after  their  return  from  school  had  been  agitating 
Constance,  and  this  plan  was  exactly  to  her  liking. 
She  paid  a  small  sum  weekly  from  her  earnings 
for  the  supervision,  and  it  was  understood  that 

214 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Loretta  should  have  the  same  privilege  after  her 
apprenticeship  was  over  and  she  had  become  self- 
supporting.  So  it  was  that  Mrs.  Wilson  felt  she 
had  reason  to  be  gratified  by  her  philanthropic 
experiment  in  Lincoln  Chambers. 


215 


XIV 

THE  zest  of  existence  must  be  largely  ethical 
and  subjective  for  the  majority  of  us  or  we 
should  speedily  become  despondent  or  bored.  Con 
tact  with  life  is  necessarily  so  commonplace  for  the 
mass  of  humanity,  that,  were  we  dependent  on  per 
sonal  participation  in  large  events  and  dramatic, 
splendid  experiences  for  inspiration  and  content, 
few  would  not  find  themselves  restless  and  in  the 
mental  doldrums.  Fortunately  for  our  peace  of 
mind,  most  of  us  not  only  appreciate  that  pictorial 
and  world-stirring,  or  even  exciting,  affairs  can 
be  the  lot  of  only  a  fraction  of  mankind,  but,  by 
virtue  of  the  imagination,  manage  to  impart  to 
our  more  or  less  humble  vicissitudes  the  aspect  of 
an  engrossing  situation.  We  recognize  the  relative 
insignificance  of  the  individual  drama,  but  its 
reality  holds  us.  Its  characters  may  be  few,  its 
scenery  bare,  its  action  trite  and  simple  to  other 
eyes,  yet  each  of  us,  as  the  leading  actor,  finds  in 
the  development  of  a  human  soul  a  part  which 
fascinates  him,  and  lends  itself  to  the  finest  shades 
of  expression.  Whether  it  be  a  king  on  his  throne, 
or  a  cripple  in  his  cot,  the  essential  matter  to  the 
world  is  the  nice  interpretation.  So,  as  the  true 
artist  in  a  subordinate  role  forgets  for  the  time 
that  he  is  not  the  leading  actor,  we  refuse  to  be 
depressed  by  the  unimportance  of  our  theatricals 

216 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

and  are  absorbed  by  the  unfolding  perplexities  of 
our  own  soul  play. 

It  is  every  American  woman's  privilege,  accord 
ing  to  her  tastes,  to  dream  that  she  may  become 
the  wife  of  the  President  of  the  United  States,  or 
wield  a  powerful  influence  as  a  poetess,  humani 
tarian  educator,  or  other  exponent  of  modern 
feminine  usefulness.  In  marrying  Emil  Stuart, 
Constance  had  renounced  the  latter  in  favor  of  the 
former  possibility.  She  had  sacrificed  all  hopes 
of  personal  public  distinction,  but  there  still  had 
remained  the  vision  of  becoming  famous  by  proxy, 
through  her  husband.  If  this  had  never  appeared 
to  her  happy  eyes  as  a  bride  more  than  an  iridescent 
dream,  the  idea  that  she  would  presently  be  work 
ing  in  a  lawyer's  office  would  have  seemed  utterly 
inconsistent  with  her  scheme  of  life,  and  a  viola 
tion  of  her  horoscope.  Yet,  now  that  she  was 
established  in  this  position,  she  found  the  experi 
ence  not  only  satisfactory,  as  a  means  of  subsist 
ence,  but  interesting.  In  the  first  place,  it  stirred 
her  to  be  down-town  in  the  swift  current  of  affairs 
and  a  part  of  the  busy  crowd  which  peopled  the 
huge  office-buildings  and  swept  to  and  from  its 
work  with  the  regularity  and  rhythmic  force  of 
the  tide.  Through  this  daily  contact  she  discerned, 
as  never  before,  the  dignity  and  the  pathos  of 
labor,  and  gained  both  courage  and  exhilaration 
from  the  thought  that,  though  there  were  generals 
and  captains,  and  she  was  in  the  rear  rank  of  pri 
vates,  the  real  strength  of  the  army  lay  in  the  faith 
ful  performance  by  the  individual  of  that  portion 
of  the  world's  toil  entrusted  to  himself  or  herself. 
There  was  attraction,  too,  in  her  employment, 

217 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

though  her  task  was  but  to  register  and  reproduce 
with  despatch  the  thoughts  of  others.  The  occu 
pation  tested  her  accuracy,  patience,  tact,  and  dili 
gence.  She  must  avoid  blunders  and  be  swift  to 
comprehend.  There  were  secrets  in  her  keeping; 
affairs  upon  the  issue  of  which  hinged  large  sums 
of  money,  and  often  the  happiness  of  leading  citi 
zens,  who  were  clients  of  the  office;  close  legal 
battles  between  mind  and  mind;  domestic  difficul 
ties  settled  out  of  court;  and  suits  for  injuries, 
where  the  price  of  a  life  or  of  a  limb  were  at  stake. 
Her  lips  must  be  sealed,  and  she  must  seem  un 
aware  of  the  tragedies  which  passed  beneath  her 
observation.  Yet  the  human  element  became  a 
constant,  vivid  interest  to  her,  and  now  and  then 
it  happened,  as,  for  instance,  when  a  forlorn  hope 
brought  liberal  damages  to  the  wronged  or  the 
afflicted,  that  she  was  taken  into  the  secret  by  the 
exultant  plaintiff,  and  was  able  to  rejoice  openly. 
There  was,  finally,  her  association  with  her  em 
ployer.  From  this  she  had  not  expected  much. 
She  was  there  to  execute  his  instructions  without 
superfluous  words  or  the  obtrusion  of  her  own  per 
sonality.  She  knew,  instinctively,  that  he  would 
not  treat  her  merely  as  a  machine,  but  she  took 
for  granted  that  their  relations  would  be  formal. 
It  pleased  her  that,  though  this  was  the  case,  there 
were  moments,  even  from  the  first,  when  he  let 
her  perceive  that  he  regarded  her  as  a  social  com 
panion.  To  evince  a  kindly  interest  in  her  per 
sonal  affairs  was  simply  human;  anyone  might 
show  this;  but  to  talk  with  her  on  the  topics  of  the 
day,  to  call  her  attention  to  a  book  or  an  article, 
or,  as  presently  happened,  to  invite  her  opinion  on 

218 


There  were  moments,  even  from  the  first,  when  he  let  her  perceive  that  he  regarded 
her  as  a  social  companion 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

a  question  of  legal  ethics,  was  a  flattering  indica 
tion  that  he  considered  their  point  of  view  the 
same.  A  difference  in  point  of  view  is  the  most 
insurmountable,  because  the  most  intangible,  bar 
rier  to  the  free  play  of  human  sympathy  and  the 
social  instinct.  It  is  the  last  great  fortress  in  the 
pathway  of  democracy;  one  which  the  besiegers 
will  be  able  to  carry  only  by  learning  the  password. 
A  free-masonry  exists,  from  the  cut  of  the  mind  to 
that  of  the  hair  and  coat,  between  those  who  recog 
nize  each  other,  and  not  to  speak  the  same  lan 
guage  palsies  the  best  intentions.  Modest  as  her 
introduction  to  Mrs.  Randolph  Wilson  had  made 
her,  Constance  in  her  heart  believed  that  she  spoke 
the  same  mental  language  as  Mr.  Perry.  But 
would  he  recognize  it?  That  he  did  so  not  only 
increased  her  interest  in  serving  him,  but  held  out 
the  promise  of  a  new  friend.  He  might  so  easily 
have  passed  her  over,  he  who  was  so  busy  and  had 
so  many  acquaintances.  Yet  it  was  plain  that  he 
liked  to  talk  to  her,  and  that  he  availed  himself 
of  opportunities  for  conversation.  At  the  end  of 
a  year  it  happened  that  the  other  stenographer, 
her  predecessor,  left  Mr.  Perry's  employment  in 
order  to  marry.  As  a  consequence,  Constance  be 
came  the  senior  clerk,  and  was  given  formal  charge 
of  the  office  with  a  slight  increase  in  pay. 

She  would  scarcely  have  been  human  had  Gor 
don  Perry's  complimentary  interest  failed  to  in 
spire  her  with  some  degree  of  hero-worship.  Yet, 
though  she  was  presently  aware  that  she  had  set 
him  on  a  pedestal,  she  felt  that  she  had  excellent 
reasons  for  her  partiality.  Was  he  not  a  clear 
headed,  astute  reasoner,  as  well  as  kind?  A  thor- 

219 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ough,  conscientious  worker,  who  went  to  the  root 
of  whatever  he  undertook,  and  prosecuted  it  vigor 
ously,  as  well  as  a  gracious  spirit  with  a  sense 
of  humor?  If  she  did  not  reveal  much  of  the  last 
quality  herself,  she  appreciated  and  enjoyed  it  in 
others,  especially  when  it  was  the  sort  of  humor 
which  championed  truth  against  error  and  could 
be  playful  or  caustic,  as  the  occasion  demanded. 
He  was  simple  and  approachable,  yet  he  had  in 
fluential  and  fashionable  friends.  Recently  he  had 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Randolph  Wilson, 
and  was  on  pleasant  terms  with  her.  Constance 
had  recognized  her  handwriting,  and  had  been 
apprised  by  Loretta  of  his  presence  at  Mrs.  Wil 
son's  entertainments.  Loretta  had,  what  seemed 
to  Constance,  almost  a  mania  for  the  social  depart 
ment  of  newspapers.  She  knew  by  rote  the  names 
of  the  society  leaders,  and  was  familiar  through 
reportorial  photography  with  many  of  their  faces. 
Mrs.  Wilson  was  the  bright,  particular  star  in  this 
galaxy  of  interest.  Loretta  searched  with  avidity 
for  every  item  of  gossip  which  concerned  her 
divinity,  and  took  a  hectic  pleasure  in  retailing  her 
information.  Thus  it  happened  that  every  now 
and  then  she  would  exclaim:  "I  see  that  your  boss 
was  at  her  last  entertainment,"  the  fact  of  which 
was  more  agreeable  to  Constance  than  the  phrase 
ology.  Loretta's  diction  was  always  clear,  but 
Constance,  who  wished  to  feel  that  they  spoke  the 
same  language,  had  often  to  bite  her  lips  as  a  re 
proof  to  her  sensibilities;  and,  especially,  when  she 
heard  her  hero  spoken  of  as  her  boss.  It  was  so 
wide  of  the  truth  regarding  him. 

Then  there  was  his  mother,  and  here  again  Con- 
220 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

stance  had  cause  to  feel  gratified.  Quite  unex 
pectedly  Mrs.  Perry  had  called  upon  her,  seeking 
ler  at  Lincoln  Chambers  in  the  late  afternoon 
;vhen  she  was  likely  to  be  at  home.  While  serving 
ier  five  o'clock  tea,  Constance  had  observed,  with 
nterest  in  her  personality,  marked  resemblances  to 
ier  son.  He  had  inherited  her  naturalness  and 
nental  vigor.  Her  cheerful  directness,  too,  but 
n  his  case  the  straightforward  attitude  was 
;oftened  by  the  habit  of  deliberation  and  garnished 
)y  a  more  tolerant  gaiety.  It  was  obvious  that 
Mrs.  Perry  maintained  the  integrity  of  her  con- 
Actions  until  they  ran  counter  in  daily  life  to  his, 
ind  in  capitulating  reserved  always  the  privilege 
:o  be  of  the  same  opinion  still,  which  she  exercised 
.vith  her  tongue  in  her  cheek,  thereby  betraying 
ier  great  pride  in  her  son,  and  in  her  son's  superior 
wisdom.  She  professed,  for  instance,  to  regard 
lis  ideas  concerning  the  new  home  in  which  he  had 
just  installed  her,  and  where  she  was  keeping  house 
for  him,  as  extravagant.  What  was  the  use  of 
spending  so  much  on  mere  creature  comforts?  She 
did  not  need  them.  She  had  sat  on  straight-backed 
:hairs  all  her  days  and  preferred  them,  and  she  did 
not  require  a  telephone  to  order  her  marketing. 

"When  I  was  young,"  she  said  to  Constance, 
"there  was  only  one  set  bath-tub  in  a  house,  if  any, 
and  no  modern  plumbing.  We  carried  hot  water 
upstairs  in  pails,  and  those  who  drew  water  from 
the  boiler  poured  in  as  much  as  they  took.  But 
there  are  so  many  labor-saving  machines  to-day, 
that  sheer  laziness  is  at  a  premium.  Gordon  de 
clares  that  I'm  all  wrong,  and  that  more  people 
are  clean  and  comfortable  as  a  consequence.  Then, 

221 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

as  to  the  wall-papers  and  carpets  and  upholstery, 
well,  they're  pretty,  I  can't  deny  that.  But,  some 
how,  it  goes  against  my  grain  to  see  so  many  bright 
colors.  Yet  when  I  say  it  looks  frivolous,  Gordon 
simply  laughs.  So  I've  promised  to  hold  my 
tongue  until  everything  is  finished,  and  to  let  him 
have  his  way.  He  likes  to  have  his  way  almost 
as  much  as  I  do  mine,  Mrs.  Stuart,  and  the  strang 
est  part  is  that,  though  he  doesn't  always  con 
vince  me,  I  have  a  secret  feeling  that  he  must 
be  right." 

Constance  was  taken  to  see  the  new  house  in  one 
of  the  outlying  and  more  fashionable  wards  of  the 
city,  which,  as  Mrs.  Perry  had  declared,  was  sup 
plied  with  all  the  modern  improvements  and  was 
being  furnished  with  an  eye  to  artistic  taste.  It 
became  evident  that  the  old  lady,  despite  her  mis 
givings,  was  very  proud  at  heart  of  the  whole 
establishment,  but  that  her  satisfaction  centred  in 
the  library — her  son's  room — a  cosey,  spacious 
apartment  with  tall  shelves  for  his  books  and 
various  conveniences  adapted  to  a  bachelor  and  a 
student.  As  standing  on  the  threshold,  she  ex 
hibited  it  to  her  guest  with  a  shy  pride,  which 
almost  seemed  to  gasp  at  the  effects  disclosed,  she 
murmured:  "It  sometimes  seems  to  me  a  wicked 
waste  of  money;  but  I'm  glad  to  think  he's  going 
to  be  so  comfortable." 

Constance  replied,  "It's  a  delightful  room. 
Just  the  place,  restful  to  the  body  and  stimulating 
to  the  spirit,  which  a  busy  man  like  Mr.  Perry 
ought  to  have." 

"There  can  be  nothing  too  good  for  him,  if 
that's  what  you  mean." 

222 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"I  heartily  assent,"  said  Constance,  smiling. 
"And  I  agree  with  your  son  that  it  is  sensible  and 
right  to -surround  oneself  with  pretty  things  if  one 
has  the  means." 

"I  guess  that  he  must  have  talked  it  over  with 
you,"  said  the  old  lady,  with  a  keen  glance. 

"No." 

"Well,  it's  a  wonder  he  hasn't,  for  he  sets 
store  by  your  opinion  on  lots  of  things.  In  my 
day,  compliments  weren't  considered  good  for 
young  people,  but  I  don't  believe  from  your 
looks  that  you'll  work  any  the  less  well  because 
I  let  you  know  what  he  thinks  of  you.  He  was 
saying  the  other  day  that  he  feared  you  must  find 
thumping  on  that  machine  of  yours,  week  in  and 
week  out,  and  taking  down  letters  in  double-quick 
time,  dull  work,  and  I  told  him  that  a  woman  of 
the  right  sort,  with  two  children  to  support,  had 
no  time  to  feel  dull  or  to  think  about  her  feelings, 
but  was  thankful  for  the  chance  of  steady  employ 
ment.  You  see  I  know  something  about  that  my 
self.  You  have  your  boy  and  girl  to  keep  your 
thoughts  busy,  just  as  I  had  him." 

"Yes,  indeed.  But  it  is  a  pleasure  to  work  for 
Mr.  Perry.  No  man  is  a  hero  to  his  valet,  and 
need  not  be,  I  suppose,  to  his  stenographer.  You 
won't  think  it  presumptuous  of  me  to  say  that  he 
has  been  very  considerate,  and  that  I  enjoy  taking 
down  his  words  because  he  is  so  intelligent  and  so 
thorough?" 

"There's  no  one  who  likes  to  hear  nice  things 
said  about  him  so  well  as  his  mother.  There's  only 
one  fault  about  him,  so  far  as  I  know,  and  that 
may  be  cured  any  day.  He's  a  bachelor.  I  would 

223 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

move  straight  out  of  this  house  to-morrow  in  order 
to  see  him  well  married." 

"That  wouldn't  be  necessary,  I  imagine,  Mrs. 
Perry." 

"Yes,  it  would.  I  should  make  a  detestable 
mother-in-law.  Gordon  gets  his  clear-headedness 
from  me,  and  I  know  my  own  faults.  I  shouldn't 
be  jealous,  but  I  should  wish  her  to  do  things  in 
my  way,  and  she  would  wish  to  do  them  in  hers, 
so  we  should  clash.  I  wouldn't  risk  it.  But  I'd 
be  willing  to  die  to-morrow  and  never  to  kiss  my 
grandchildren  if  only  he  had  a  good  wife.  I 
should  be  very  particular,  though." 

"I  should  think  so.  I  hope  with  all  my  heart 
that  he  may  meet  a  woman  worthy  of  him."  Con 
stance  was  a  little  surprised  by  her  own  fervor. 
Expressed  in  sound  it  seemed  to  her  almost  famil 
iar.  Then,  without  knowing  why,  she  sighed. 
Was  it  because  she  painfully  recalled  that  marriage 
was  a  lottery? 

Mrs.  Perry  evidently  ascribed  the  sigh  to  that 
source,  for  after  regarding  her  a  moment,  she  said 
softly,  "It  was  easier  for  me  than  it  is  for  you. 
When  I  lost  my  husband  we  were  very  happy. 
You  are  left  alone.  You  see  my  son  has  told  me 
your  story." 

"I  am  glad  that  you  should  know." 

"But  you  are  young,  my  dear.  Young  and  a 
charming  looking,  lovable  woman.  The  right 
man  may  come  along.  Who  knows?" 

Constance  stared  at  her  in  astonishment.  "My 
husband  is  not  dead,"  she  said,  a  little  formally. 

"Yes,  I  know.     He  deserted  you." 

"But  he  is  alive." 

224 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Gordon  told  me  that  you  had  not  been  di 
vorced." 

"I  have  never  thought  of  such  a  thing." 
"You  know  where  he  is?" 

"I  have  not  seen  him  or  heard  from  him  since 
the  day  he  left  me  nearly  three  years  ago." 
"Precisely." 

"He  is  the  father  of  my  children,  however." 
For  a  moment  Mrs.  Perry  seemed  to  be  ponder 
ing  the   thesis   contained  in   her  single  word  of 
deduction,  and  her  visitor's  reply.     Then  she  bent 
her  shrewd  eyes  on  Constance,   and  said  with  a 
quiet  pithiness  of  utterance,  which  reminded  the 
latter  of  her  employer.     "I  was  not  tempted  to 
marry   again   because   I   loved  my  husband,    and 
!  could  not  forget  him.     But  I've  never  been  able 
to  convince  my  common  sense  that  it  is  fair  to 
I  asperse  the  woman  who  marries  again  after  the 
!law  has  separated  her  forever  from  the  man  who 
has  done  her  a  grievous  wrong,  but  to  think  it  only 
;  right  and  fitting  for  a  widow  to  take  a  second  hus 
band  when  the  first  whom  she  has  loved,  and  who 
has  loved  her,  is  in  the  grave.     If  I  were  a  young 
Iwoman  on  my  death-bed,  I  expect  I  couldn't  make 
jup  my  mind  to  beg  my  husband  to  marry  again. 
iBut  I  couldn't  blame  him  if  he  did.     It's  the  way 
of  human  nature,  often  as  not.     It's  hateful  to  be 
lonely.     And  why  shouldn't  the  girl  marry  again, 
who  has  been  left  in  the  lurch  by  a  cruel  man,  who 
has  been  false  to  the  vow  he  took  to  support  and 
protect  her?     Only  the  other  day  a  rich  merchant 
whom  my  son  knows,  a  man  of  over  sixty,  who 
had  lived  with  his  wife  for  thirty  years,  married 
again  before  she  had  been  dead  twelve  months, 

225 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

and  they  had  a  solemn  church  wedding.  It  was 
your  clergyman,  Mrs.  Stuart,  who  married  them. 
I'd  call  it  disgusting,  except  that  some  people  said 
he  was  solitary,  although  he  had  daughters.  But 
to  make  fish  of  one  and  flesh  of  the  other,  isn't 
just.  I'm  an  old  woman,  and  the  longer  I  live  the 
more  I  dote  on  justice." 

"I  remember  now.  I  know  whom  you  mean. 
Loretta  insisted  on  reading  me  the  account  of  it 
from  the  newspaper.  I've  seen  him  in  church.  He 
is  one  of  the  vestrymen." 

"Yes,  it  was  a  society  function.  But  I  don't 
judge  him,"  said  Mrs.  Perry,  sitting  up  straight 
to  emphasize  her  intention  to  be  dispassionate. 
"Men  are  queer.  His  wife  was  dead,  and  he  had 
the  right  to  ask  another  woman  to  fill  her  place. 
But  why,  then,  should  anyone  criticise  you?" 

"Have  you  heard  anyone  criticise  me?"  Con 
stance  asked,  hoping  to  extricate  the  conversation 
from  the  depths  of  this  argument  by  a  ripple  on 
the  surface. 

"Some  of  them  would.  You  did  yourself,  you 
know." 

"It  was  a  new  idea  to  me.  I  have  never  thought 
of  marrying."  After  a  moment's  silence,  she 
added,  simply:  "How  would  you  like  your  son  to 
marry  a  divorced  woman,  Mrs.  Perry?" 

Her  mind  had  picked  out,  instinctively,  the  cru 
cial  question.  The  old  lady  gave  a  little  gasp  and 
start. 

"A  divorced  woman?  Gordon?"  Then  she 
laughed.  "The  way  you  said  'divorced  woman' 
had  a  formidable  sound."  The  personal  applica 
tion  was  evidently  a  surprise  to  her;  evidently,  too, 

226 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

it  interested  her,  and  she  wrestled  with  it  sitting 
erect  and  bright-eyed.  In  another  moment  she 
had  worked  out  the  answer  to  her  own  satisfac 
tion.  "It  would  depend  upon  her — what  she  was 
like.  If  she  were  innocent — if  she  had  been  grossly 
wronged,  and  had  sought  the  relief  from  her  dis 
tress  which  the  laws  allow,  and  I  liked  her  and 
he  loved  her,  I  shouldn't  object.  Or,  put  it  in  this 
way:  I  should  prefer  that  Gordon  did  not  marry 
a  widow,  but  a  girl  with  all  the  freshness  of  her  life 
: before  her." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  murmured  Constance. 

"But  plenty  of  young  men  fall  in  love  with 
widows  and  marry,  and  no  one  thinks  any  the 
worse  of  the  widows,  or  of  them.  I'd  fully  as  lief 
Gordon  married  a  divorced  woman  as  one  who 
had  buried  her  husband.  And  if  I  were  sure  she 
was  a  fine  woman,  I  can  imagine  my  sentiment  van 
ishing  like  moonshine,  and  my  not  minding  a  bit." 

Constance  shook  her  head  thoughtfully.  "He 
must  marry  some  fine,  sweet  girl  without  a  past," 
she  said  with  gentle  positiveness. 

"Amen  to  that,  my  dear.  And  the  sooner  the 
better." 

One  day  early  in  September,  in  the  summer  fol 
lowing  the  date  of  this  conversation,  Paul  Howard 
entered  the  office.  As  he  passed  into  Gordon's  pri 
vate  room,  omitting  the  gay  greeting  which  he  was 
wont  to  exchange  with  her,  Constance  noticed  that 
his  expression  was  grave  and  tense,  and  that  he 
looked  tired.  She  said  to  herself  that  his  summer 
at  Newport  could  not  have  rested  him. 

It  was  Paul's  second  season  at  Newport.  In 
227 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

accordance  with  his  half-humorous  prediction,  he 
had  hired  there,  the  previous  summer,  one  of  the 
most  desirable  villas,  a  spacious  establishment 
with  a  superb  outlook  to  sea.  He  had  maintained 
a  large  steam  yacht,  and  an  elaborate  stable,  and 
had  entertained  lavishly.  All  to  please  his  wife. 
At  least  so  he  regarded  it,  and  this  was  in  a  large 
measure  the  truth.  Ever  since  his  marriage,  five 
years  back,  Paul  had  been  thinking  that  he  would 
like  to  spend  his  vacation  in  some  cool,  picturesque 
spot,  far  from  scenes  of  social  display,  where  with 
his  wife  he  could  enjoy  the  beauties  of  nature  un 
reservedly,  and  recuperate  from  the  fatigues  of 
the  winter.  But,  though  he  had  hankered  after 
this  in  theory,  and  had  broached  the  project  to 
Mrs.  Howard,  somehow  it  had  never  come  to  pass, 
and  he  had  been  secretly  aware  for  some  time  that 
it  never  would,  unless  one  of  them  had  nervous 
prostration  and  were  ordered  away  by  a  physician. 
For  when  one  is  a  millionaire  and  has  an  ambitious 
wife,  one  gets  into  the  way  of  doing  what  other 
millionaires  do,  and  becomes  acclimated  to  the 
amusements  proper  to  millionaires,  until  presently 
the  necessity  of  having  luxuries  at  one's  fingers' 
ends  makes  any  other  programme  seem  insipid 
and  a  bore.  Those  who  neglect  to  follow  their 
own  tastes  cannot  fail  to  be  moulded  by  the  tastes 
which  they  adopt.  We  readily  habituate  ourselves 
to  our  surroundings,  whether  it  be  too  few  baths, 
or  too  many.  Paul  delighted  in  the  plumbing  fa 
cilities  of  his  establishment.  He  was  perpetually 
taking  baths  and  changing  his  underclothes,  and 
the  apprehension  lest  this  orgie  be  interfered  with 
had  taken  the  edge  off  his  desire  for  closer  con- 

228 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

tact  with  the  beauties  of  nature.  He  recognized 
the  change  in  himself,  but  charged  it  to  the  account 
of  the  spirit  of  the  age,  that  convenient  depository 
of  modern  philosophers.  So,  by  the  end  of  that 
first  summer,  he  had  found  himself  content  rather 
than  otherwise  with  the  experience  and  disposed 
to  return.  To  begin  with,  his  wife  was  enthu 
siastic.  As  she  expressed  it,  she  had  had  the  time 
of  her  life,  which  was  comforting.  Although 
from  Monday  morning  to  Thursday  night  had 
been  spent  by  him  in  New  York  (he  had  arranged 
to  be  absent  from  Benham  during  the  summer 
months  and  take  temporary  charge  of  the  New 
York  office),  the  rest  of  the  week  was  passed  at 
Newport,  and  for  the  trip  he  had  his  own  com 
fortable  yacht.  Besides,  he  took  a  fortnight  in 
August,  during  the  time  of  the  New  York  Yacht 
Club  cruise,  with  its  opportunities  to  meet  famil 
iarly  men  of  importance  in  the  financial  world. 
There  was  golf  and  riding  and  driving,  his  baths 
and  cocktails.  If  he  found  the  widely  advertised, 
and  rather  foolish,  extravagant  entertainments  in 
dog-day  August,  to  which  his  wife  dragged  him, 
tedious,  he  could  generally  slip  away  early  if  she 
wished  to  stay  to  dance,  and  often  he  could  man 
age  to  be  in  New  York  when  they  occurred.  Be 
sides,  since  to  be  present  at  them  seemed  to  be 
regarded  as  social  recognition,  he  was  gratified  to 
be  treated  as  a  millionaire  would  wish  to  be  treated 
in  the  society  of  millionaires.  To  go,  or  at  least 
to  be  represented  by  his  wife,  who  made  his  ex 
cuses  most  charmingly  he  was  told,  showed  that 
he  had  not  been  left  out,  which  is  the  controlling 
reason  why  people  go  to  festivities  at  Newport, 

229 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

except  to  those  where  trinkets  of  real  value  are 
given  away  in  the  course  of  the  evening.  Paul 
had  fully  intended  to  renounce  cocktails.  In  fact, 
he  had  sworn  off  at  Benham;  but  since  they  ap 
peared  to  take  the  place  of  a  grace  before  meat 
at  every  gathering  of  Newport's  fashionable  male 
contingent,  he  had  yielded  again  like  a  good  fel 
low  to  the  spirit  of  the  age  just  for  one  summer. 
One  swallow  does  not  make  a  summer,  as  we  all 
know,  and  similarly,  destiny  often  requires  more 
than  one  summer  to  carry  the  spirit  of  the  age  to 
its  logical  conclusions.  This  is  true  of  the  effect 
of  cocktails  on  the  coats  of  the  stomach,  accord 
ing  to  the  best  medical  authorities.  But  we  are 
not  considering  that  here.  Indeed,  the  working 
out  process  which  Paul  now  found  confronting 
him  was  outside  of  himself  and  concerned  him 
chiefly  as  a  victim.  If  his  first  summer  at  Newport 
had  been  propitious,  taking  all  things,  including 
the  spirit  of  the  age,  into  consideration,  the  second 
had  been  productive  of  momentous  issues.  It  was 
in  relation  to  these  that  Paul  had  come  to  consult 
Gordon  Perry,  his  friend  and  legal  adviser 


230 


XV 


GORDON  PERRY  looked  up  from  his  desk 
with  an  air  of  surprise.  uWhy,  Paul,  I 
thought  you'd  shaken  the  dust  of  Benham  from 
your  feet  until  the  last  of  the  month."  Then 
noticing  his  client's  face  as  they  joined  hands,  he 
added,  "I  hope  nothing  has  gone  wrong." 

uEverything  is  wrong."  Paul  seated  himself 
with  grave  deliberation.  uAre  you  at  leisure? 
What  I  have  to  consult  you  about  will  take  some 


time." 


"No  one  shall  disturb  us." 

"It  isn't  business."  Then,  after  a  moment's 
silence,  "It's  my  wife.  She  has  betrayed  me." 

"Your  wife  betrayed  you?"  Gordon,  as  in  his 
bewilderment  he  echoed  the  words,  recalled  a 
woman  with  a  dainty  figure,  a  small,  sphinx-like 
mouth,  full  cheeks  devoid  of  color,  and  black  hair. 
He  had  never  been  at  Paul's  house,  but  he  had 
been  introduced  to  her,  and  he  had  frequently  seen 
her  and  her  little  girl  driving  in  her  victoria,  a 
picture  of  up-to-date  fastidiousness.  At  the  time 
of  her  marriage  she  had  been  called  the  prettiest 
girl  in  Benham.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  St. 
Louis  contractor  with  a  reputation  for  executive 
ability,  who  had  moved  to  Benham  in  her  child 
hood  to  become  the  president  of  a  car-building 
company.  Paul's  friends  had  intimated  that  he 
had  gone  rather  out  of  his  way  to  marry  her. 

231 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Certainly  it  had  been  considered  a  brilliant  match 
for  her. 

uYes.  It's  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish,  as  you'll  ap 
preciate  when  you  hear  the  story;  a  hopeless  case 
so  far  as  our  living  together  is  concerned.  I've 
come  to  you  for  advice  and  to  talk  it  over,  though 
she  and  I  threshed  out  the  situation  four  days  ago. 

"May  I  smoke?  Thanks.  You  don't  here,  I 
know;  but  I  go  from  cigar  to  cigar  to  keep  my 
nerves  straight,  for  I'm  still  dazed,  and  I  haven't 
slept  much." 

"It's  ghastly,"  murmured  Gordon. 

"Now  that  I  look  back  I  suppose  I  ought  to 
have  realized  that  she  never  really  cared  for  me. 
Perhaps  the  gradual,  unconscious  perception  of 
that  reacted  on  me.  I  fell  dead  in  love  with  her 
looks,  and  would  have  worshipped  the  ground  she 
trod  on  had  she  proved  what  I  thought  her  to  be. 
As  it  is,  I'm  humiliated,  angry,  disgusted,  all  at 
sea.  But  I  can  see  that  we  should  never  be  happy 
together  again.  Love  in  the  true  sense  is  over  on 
both  sides.  I  tell  you  this,  Gordon,  to  begin  with. 
You  haven't  heard  anything?" 

"Not  a  word." 

"I  thought  it  likely  they  had  copied  the  item 
from  the  Newport  into  the  Benham  newspapers. 
Five  nights  ago  I  popped  at  a  man  in  my  house 
with  a  revolver — a  long  shot — just  as  he  was  es 
caping  over  the  balcony  outside  my  wife's  apart 
ment,  and  missed.  At  the  moment  I  would  have 
given  half  my  fortune  to  kill  him.  I  dare  say,  it's 
just  as  well  I  didn't.  There  would  have  been  a 
bigger  scandal.  It  was  one  o'clock,  and  someone 
who  heard  the  noise — servants,  I  know  not  who — 

232 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

talked,  and  two  days  later  there  appeared  in  one 
of  the  newspapers  an  allusion  to  the  mysterious 
midnight  pistol  shot  on  the  Howard  place.  A  re 
porter  called  on  me;  I  declined  to  see  him,  but  my 
butler,  who  can  be  trusted,  had  instructions  to  say 
I  was  shooting  cats.  That's  all  the  public  knows 
as  yet.  Here's  a  nice  problem  for  the  women's 
debating  clubs:  A  man  discovers  his  wife's  lover 
in  his  place ;  ought  he  to  shoot  him  like  a  rat  on  the 
spot,  or  accept  the  situation  for  what  it  is  worth, 
just  as  he  has  to  accept  a  death  in  the  family,  a 
fire,  or  any  other  visitation  of  Providence?  Eh?" 
Paul  gave  a  short  laugh.  "Of  course  the  primitive 
man  shot  every  time.  But  we  can  remember  one 
husband  who  did  shoot  and  who  killed,  and  that 
all  the  exquisite  people  and  some  of  the  wise  peo 
ple  shook  their  heads  and  declared  he  ought  to 
have  thought  of  his  daughters.  There  was  a 
world-wide  scandal,  and  after  the  funeral  we  were 
told  that  the  husband  had  always  been  a  crank, 
in  proof  of  which  he  died  later  in  an  insane  asylum, 
while  his  wife  has  hovered  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
smart  set  ever  since  as  a  sort  of  blessed  martyr 
to  the  rigor  of  conventions.  No,  my  dear  fellow, 
the  only  decent  thing  for  me  to  do  now  is  to  com 
promise  myself  deliberately  with  some  common 
woman,  so  as  to  give  my  wife  the  chance  to  obtain 
a  divorce  from  me.  That  is  the  duty  of  the  gal 
lant  modern  husband,  according  to  the  nicest  and 
latest  fashionable  code." 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  Paul." 
"Wait  until  you  have  mulled  over  it  as  I  have. 
For  the  sake  of  my  little  girl  her  mother's  repu 
tation  must  be  sacred." 

233 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"I  see.     Then  her  misconduct  is  not  known?" 

"It's  a  profound  secret.  That  is,  no  one  has 
seen  her  in  the  act,  but  it  seems  that  all  Newport 
except  myself  has  taken  it  for  granted  and  been 
whispering  about  it  all  summer.  It  began  last 
summer,  dolt  that  I  was.  But  it's  not  known 
officially.  That  is,  the  newspapers  have  not  got 
on  to  it."  Paul  made  a  movement  of  impatience 
and,  rising,  took  a  turn  or  two  across  the  office. 
He  stopped  in  front  of  Gordon  and  said:  "Mind 
you,  the  temptation  to  xill  him  like  a  rat  was  not 
presented  to  me.  I  don't  say  I  would  have  done 
it.  I  don't  know  what  I  would  have  done  under 
all  the  circumstances — the  gruesome  circumstances 
— had  we  been  face  to  face  and  he  unarmed.  He 
heard  me  and  fled  by  the  window.  I  was  in  the 
ante-room  and  stepped  out  on  the  balcony,  and  run 
ning  round  merely  saw  a  disappearing  figure.  I 
did  not  know  who  he  was,  but  I  surmised;  and  on 
the  spur  of  the  moment  I  felt  it  was  almost  a  hope 
less  shot.  Who  do  you  suppose  he  was?" 

"I  have  no  idea,  of  course." 

"Guess." 

"It  would  be  useless.  I  know  no  one  at  New 
port  except  yourself,  Paul." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do.  Here's  situation  number  two 
in  the  tragedy.  It  was  my  cousin  Lucille's  hus 
band,  Clarence  Waldo." 

"For  Heaven's  sake!"  Gordon  ejaculated.  "It 
can't  be  possible." 

Paul's  laugh  broke  forth  again.  "Stunning, 
isn't  it?  No  dramatist  can  improve  on  that.  But 
I  can.  I  know  what  you're  thinking,"  he  said, 
folding  his  arms,  as  he  stood  before  Gordon  with 

234 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

a  saturnine  glee,  as  though  he  were  enjoying  the 
other's  consternation.  "You're  wondering  what 
Mrs.  Wilson  will  say?" 

Gordon  shook  his  head.     "It  is  terrible  for  her, 
of   course.      But    I   was   thinking   of   your   poor 


cousin." 


"Spare  your  pity  in  that  quarter,  man,  until 
you  know  the  truth.  Situation  number  three  !  Lu 
cille  and  her  husband  have  fallen  out,  agreed  to 
differ,  ceased  to  love  each  other,  never  have  loved 
each  other,  and  are  to  be  divorced  as  soon  as  cir 
cumstances  will  permit.  Waldo  is  to  marry  my 
wife,  and  she — Lucille — has  plighted  her  troth  to 
Bradbury  Nicholson,  of  New  York,  a  son  of  the 
president  of  the  Chemical  Trust,  of  whom  she  is 
enamoured,  and  with  whom,  it  seems,  she  has  been 
carrying  on  clandestinely  for  months.  Didn't  I 
tell  you  I  could  improve  on  myself?  The  curtain 
now  to  red  fire  and  the  strains  of  Tschaikowsky !" 

Paul  flung  himself  into  his  chair,  and  squared 
his  jaw.  For  a  moment  he  looked  like  his  father. 

Gordon  gazed  at  him  with  a  brow  of  dismay. 
"How  do  you  know  this?" 

"From  my  wife.  She  made  a  clean  breast  of 
their  affairs,  and  seemed  to  be  rather  surprised 
that  I  didn't  know.  It's  all  cut  and  dried.  That 
is,  it  is  to  work  out  that  way  in  the  end,  and  soon, 
if  I'm  accommodating.  And  I  am  expected  to  be. 
After  the  first  flare-up,  which  was  all  on  my  part, 
and  did  not  take  place  until  next  morning,  we 
talked  in  our  ordinary  voices,  as  we  are  talking 
now."  Since  the  climax  of  his  narration,  Paul's 
sensational  tone  had  ceased.  He  seemed  simply 
tired,  as  though  he  had  been  suddenly  let  down. 

235 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"She  set  me  the  example.  You  know  her  face. 
She  looked  whiter  than  ever,  but  was  perfectly 
clear  and  explicit.  She  said  it  was  evident  we  were 
not  suited  to  each  other.  Although  I  agreed  with 
her,  I  was  fool  enough  to  ask  her  why,  and  she 
intimated  politely,  but  clearly,  that  I  bored  her — 
said  we  did  not  care  for  the  same  things.  She 
admitted  that  I  was  not  to  blame  for  that,  and  that 
I  had  been  very  generous  in  money  matters.  Then 
we  talked  and  we  talked  and  we  talked,  at  that 
time  and  again  in  the  evening,  until  the  small 
hours.  The  upshot  is,  we're  to  be  divorced  as  soon 
as  it  can  be  arranged.  She  is  to  desert  me,  or  I 
her.  She  seemed  to  be  posted  as  to  the  law.  Or, 
whatever  way  you  suggest.  I've  given  in.  She 
appealed  to  my  common  sense,  as  she  called  it. 
She  told  me  that  we  had  made  a  mistake,  that  we 
both  knew  it,  and  that  the  sooner  we  recognized 
it,  the  better.  That  there  need  be  no  disagreeable 
publicity  beyond  the  fact  that  we  were  no  longer 
to  be  husband  and  wife.  I  couldn't  deny  that  my 
love  for  her  was  dead.  The  only  difficult  ques 
tion  was  the  child.  Neither  of  us  wished  to  give 
her  up,  and  each  of  us  would  like  to  have  her  all 
the  time." 

"Poor  little  thing!" 

"Yes,  indeed.  When  I  thought  of  Helen,  I 
told  my  wife  at  first  that  I  was  ready  to  preserve 
the  outward  forms  of  living  together,  in  the  teeth 
of  her  unfaithfulness,  for  the  sake  of  our  child. 
But  she  told  me  that  I  was  old-fashioned.  She 
asked  whether  I  thought  it  would  be  worse  for 
Helen,  or  whether  Helen  would  be  less  happy  to 
live  as  we  should  mutually  arrange  than  to  grow 

236 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

up  in  a  wretched  household,  where  the  father  and 
mother  were  utterly  at  variance.  That  was  a 
poser.  It's  the  devil  either  way.  What  do  you 
think?" 

"It's  the  devil,  as  you  say.  Amen,  to  that! 
But  if  it's  got  to  be — got  to  be,"  Gordon  reit 
erated,  "I'm  inclined  to  think  your  wife  was  right 
in  terming  your  protest  old-fashioned.  Where  a 
marriage  is  utterly  blasted,  to  retain  the  husk 
merely  for  the  sake  of  the  children  must  fail,  it 
seems  to  me,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  to  accom 
plish  its  purpose — to  preserve  what  society  is 
pleased  to  call  the  sanctity  of  the  home." 

"There  would  not  be  much  sanctity  left  in 
mine,"  Paul  murmured.  "However,  when  she 
saw  that  I  was  determined  to  have  my  full  share 
of  Helen,  or  fight,  we  came  to  terms.  Helen  is 
to  spend  her  winters  with  me,  her  summer  vaca 
tions  with  her  mother;  or  some  such  arrangement; 
and,  of  course,  I  am  to  provide  for  the  child." 
Paul  paused  reflectively.  "I  don't  think  it  ever 
occurred  to  my  wife  that  we  do  not  stand  on  an 
equal  footing,  and  that  she  would  not  be  the  best 
of  moral  influences  for  a  daughter.  It  seems  to 
be  an  answer  to  everything  that  we  were  not  sym 
pathetic,  and  that  she  has  met  somebody  who  is; 
her  affinity,  as  they  say.  I  had  observed  her  in 
timacy  with  Waldo,  and  was  aware  of  some  cases 
at  Newport  where  women  had  compromised  them 
selves  with  other  women's  husbands;  and,  though 
I  didn't  exactly  fancy  Waldo's  attentions,  and  had 
hinted  to  her  twice  my  disapproval — to  which  the 
first  time  she  pleaded  surprise,  and  the  second, 
shrugged  her  shoulders — I  never  divined  the  truth 

237 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

until  I  received  this."  He  drew  a  letter  from  his 
pocket  and  handed  it  to  Gordon.  "Even  then,  I 
couldn't  believe  the  worst." 

Gordon  perused  the  contents  of  the  envelope,  a 
single  sheet  of  paper  on  which  were  the  words: 
"When  the  cat's  away,  the  mice  will  play." 

"Humph!     Anonymous!"  he  said. 

"She  asked  me  what  brought  matters  to  a  crisis, 
and  I  told  her.  She  thinks  it  must  have  been  sent 
by  a  maid  whom  she  discharged.  I  received  it  at 
my  New  York  office  in  the  middle  of  the  week, 
and  the  following  Sunday  night,  instead  of  leav 
ing  Newport  in  my  yacht,  as  usual,  I  pretended  to 
do  so,  and  returned  late  to  my  house  on  foot. 
The  rest  you  know.  It  may  be  I  was  too  much  ab 
sorbed  in  my  business.  However,  it's  all  over 
now,  and  it's  best  it  should  be  over.  What  I  wish 
is  advice  as  to  the  necessary  steps ;  that  you  should 
tell  me  what  I  ought  to  do." 

"As  to  a  divorce?" 

"Yes.    She  is  to  follow  my  instructions  in  regard 


to  it." 


"And  what  as  to  the  others — the  Waldos?" 
"No  wonder  you  ask.     I  put  the  same  question 
to  her,  and  she  told  me  that  I  needn't  concern 
myself  about  them;  that  they  would  find  a  way." 

"There  are  certainly  various  ways  if  people 
choose  to  connive  at  divorce.  There  are  certain 
States  where  the  residence  essential  to  give  the 
court  jurisdiction  can  be  obtained  in  a  pitifully 
short  time — even  as  short  as  three  months,  and 
where  an  agreement  to  live  apart  is  allowed, 
through  lack  of  scrutiny,  to  pass  for  genuine  de 
sertion.  If  Mrs.  Waldo  and  her  husband  have 

238 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

both  been  guilty  of  infidelity,  neither  is  entitled 
to  a  decree  of  divorce  in  any  court  of  justice.  But 
that  concerns  them,  not  you.  I  was  merely  voicing 
the  regret  which  every  decent  man  feels  that  there 
shouldn't  be  a  uniform  law  in  all  our  States.  But 
here  one  runs  up  against  the  vested  rights  of  sov 
ereign  peoples.  It's  a  far  cry  from  South  Caro 
lina,  where  no  divorce  is  granted  for  any  cause 
whatever,  to  Wisconsin  or  Colorado,  where  de 
sertion  for  one  year  is  sufficient.  Yet,  if  one  had 
to  choose  between  the  two,  there  is  less  injustice 
and  more  regard  for  the  welfare  of  society  in  the 
latter  extreme,  radical  as  it  is,  than  in  the  former. 
Whatever  happens,  the  world  will  never  go  back 
to  marital  chains  and  slavery."  Turning  to  the 
book-case  at  his  elbow,  Gordon  selected  a  law  book 
and  opened  it.  "I  don't  hanker  after  divorce  cases, 
but  I'm  very  glad  you  have  come  to  me,  Paul.  I 
was  simply  shocked,  at  first;  let  me  tell  you  now 
how  heartily  sorry  I  am  for  you." 

"Thank  you,  Don.  I  knew  you  would  be.  As 
to  my  cousin,  Lucille,  I  cannot  say,  positively,  that 
she  has  taken  the  final  step — actually  sinned.  My 
wife  admitted  that  she  had  no  real  knowledge, 
though  she  took  the  worst  for  granted.  But  it  is 
certain  that  the  marriage  is  at  an  end,  that  she  and 
her  husband  are  hopelessly  alienated,  and  that  at 
the  first  opportunity  she  will  marry  this  young 
Nicholson.  As  to  myself,  you  agree  with  me,  don't 
you,  that  a  divorce  is  the  only  possible,  the  only 
sensible,  course  to  adopt?" 

Gordon  paused  a  moment  before  replying. 
"The  only  possible,  no;  the  only  sensible — since 
you  ask  me  as  a  friend  as  well  as  a  client — in  my 

239 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

opinion,  yes.  It's  a  point  which  every  man  must 
decide  for  himself,  if  it  confronts  him.  Some  peo 
ple  would  say  to  you  that  you  should  stick  to  your 
wife,  not  live  with  her  necessarily,  but  refuse  to 
break  the  bond;  that  she  might  repent  and  return 
to  you.  It  seems  to  me,  though,  that  if  my  wife 
had  been  false  to  me  and  my  love  for  her  were 
dead,  I  would  not  allow  such  a  sentiment — and  it 
is  only  sentiment — to  tie  me  forever  to  a  woman 
who  was  no  longer  my  wife,  except  in  name.  Your 
life  is  before  you.  Why  should  a  vitiated  con 
tract  be  a  bar  between  you  and  happiness?  You 
may  wish  to  marry  again." 

Paul  shook  his  head. 

"Naturally  you  don't  think  so,  now.  But  why 
not?" 

"As  George  the  Second  said,  ^f  aural  des  mai- 
tresses'  "  Paul  answered,  a  little  bitterly. 

"Exactly!"  exclaimed  Gordon,  with  eagerness. 
"The  continuance  of  such  a  bond  would  be  a  pre 
mium  on  immorality.  That's  a  point  which  senti 
mentalists  do  not  take  sufficiently  into  account. 
Why  is  it  necessary  to  marry  again,  they  ask.  For 
one  thing,  because  a  man's  a  man,  as  you  and  I 
know.  It's  a  new  question  to  me,  Paul,  because, 
though  it's  one  of  the  questions  ever  on  the  sur 
face,  I  have  never  had  to  deal  with  it  squarely 
until  now.  The  more  I  think  of  it  the  more  sure 
I  am  that  a  divorce  would  be  sensible,  and  more 
than  that,  sensible  in  the  highest  sense,  without  a 
jot  or  a  tittle  of  deprecation.  I  know;  you  don't 
wish  to  have  to  apologize.  All  I  can  say  is,  if  I 
were  in  your  shoes,  I  would  do  the  same.  You 
have  a  right  to  your  freedom." 

240 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"I  couldn't  see  it  in  any  other  light.  Besides, 
my  wife  is  bent  on  being  free,  herself.  If  I  do 
not  apply  for  a  divorce,  she  will — and  in  the 
shortest  way." 

"As  to  the  method,"  continued  Gordon,  after  a 
moment's  scrutiny  of  the  volume  before  him,  "it 
is  simple  enough — a  mere  question  of  time.  In 
this  State  where  a  party  is  guilty  of  a  cause  for 
divorce — as  in  this  case,  infidelity — the  injured 
;  party  is  justified  in  leaving  the  home,  and  after 
such  separation  has  continued  for  the  statutory 
period,  the  injured  party  may  obtain  a  divorce  for 
desertion.  Or,  simpler  still,  your  wife  can  desert 
you,  and  after  the  necessary  time  has  elapsed,  the 
same  result  would  follow.  The  statutory  period 
I  is  three  years." 

"My  wife  will  not  like  that." 

"It  is  the  only  course,  if  she  desires  to  preserve 
her  reputation.  If  she  prefers  to  have  you  bring 
a  libel  for  divorce  on  the  ground  of  infidelity,  she 
can  be  free  in  a  much  shorter  time.  Also  she  could 
obtain  her  liberty  somewhat  sooner  by  changing 
her  residence  to  a  more  accommodating  jurisdic 
tion  and  asking  a  divorce  from  you.  Provided 
you  offered  no  opposition,  she  might  succeed,  but 
that  would  be  a  back-handed  method  discreditable 
to  you  both,  and  an  evasion  of  the  laws  of  this 
State,  which  might,  hereafter,  be  productive  of 
unpleasant  complications.  It's  a  sad  business,  but 
you  should  have  a  clean  job." 

"Assuredly.     We  could  separate  at  once?" 

"Yes.  But  one  of  you  must  actually  desert  the 
other.  An  agreement  to  live  apart  does  not  con 
stitute  legal  desertion.  On  the  other  hand,  if  she 

241 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

were  to  leave  your  house,  the  court  would  not  in 
quire  what  was  going  on  in  your  mind,  provided 
you  did  not  show  by  any  overt  sign  that  you  wished 
to  get  rid  of  her.  You  can  be  glad,  but  you  must 
not  say  so." 

"I  understand.  She  need  not  be  burdened  with 
my  presence  from  the  outset.  As  for  marrying 
Waldo,  she  must  wait  her  three  years." 

"And  she  may  be  thankful  that  she  will  be  able 
to  marry  as  soon  as  the  divorce  is  absolute.  In 
some  States  the  person  against  whom  a  divorce  is 
granted,  is  forbidden  to  marry  altogether,  or  for 
a  period  of  years  as  a  punishment.  To  forbid 
marriage  altogether,  in  such  cases,  appears  to  me 
another  premium  on  immorality.  To  forbid  it 
for  a  time,  may  sometimes  prevent  indecent  haste 
on  the  part  of  the  guilty,  but  it  is  a  good  deal  like 
keeping  after  school  children  who  have  been 
naughty.  Besides,  the  party  forbidden  to  marry, 
as  in  New  York,  for  instance,  has  merely  to  step 
into  New  Jersey  and  be  married,  and  the  second 
marriage  will  be  held  legal  by  the  New  York 
courts  and  everywhere  else." 

Paul  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  "That 
seems  to  me  a  decent  programme.  My  wife  can 
go  to  Europe,  and — and  when  the  time  is  up, 
marry  Waldo.  It's  easy  as  rolling  off  a  log."  He 
clapped  his  strong  hand  on  the  wooden  arm  of  his 
chair,  so  that  it  resounded.  "My  father  will  be 
terribly  cut  up.  My  aunt — God  knows  what  she 
will  say  or  do.  As  for  myself" — he  paused  while 
he  lit  a  fresh  cigar — "I  shall  have  to  go  into 
politics." 

"Politics?" 

242 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Yes.  I'd  like  to  go  to  Congress."  Paul  sat 
back  in  his  chair  with  the  air  of  one  taking  a 
fresh  brace  on  life.  "I've  always  intended  to, 
sooner  or  later.  Had  it  at  the  back  of  my  mind. 
But  now — well,  if  I  were  sent  to  Washington,  and 
presently  got  a  foreign  mission,  my  wife  might 
feel  sorry  for  a  few  minutes  that  I  bored  her.  Yet 
I  wouldn't  have  her  back.  Waldo  is  welcome  to 
her.  The  real  reason,"  he  added,  suddenly,  after 
another  pause,  "is  that  I've  been  asked.  One  of 
the  Republican  State  Committee  spoke  to  me  about 
it  in  June,  just  before  I  went  to  Newport.  The 
election  isn't  until  a  year  from  this  autumn.  I 
told  him  I'd  think  it  over.  I've  got  to  do  some 
thing  to  counteract  this  disgrace,  and  to  forget  it. 

:  Well,  I  must  be  going.  I'll  see  you  again  as  soon 
as  I  hear  from  my  wife." 

Gordon  detained  him.  "You  mustn't  take  too 
despondent  a  view  of  it.  After  all,  it's  not  your 
fault,  it's  your  misfortune.  All  your  friends  will 

srecognize  that;  and  no  one  will  be  able  to  under 
stand  how  any  woman  could  weary  of  the  love  of 
a  man  like  you,  and  prefer  a  listless,  pleasure- 
seeker,  such  as  Clarence  Waldo." 

Paul  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "It's  the  spirit 
of  the  age,  I  suppose.  I'm  not  sorry,  I  tell  you, 
but  I'm  piqued.  We  are  shells  upon  the  beach. 

I  The  tide  sweeps  us  along  even  though  we  know  it 
is  the  tide,  and  can  say  of  the  next  man,  'what 

::  a  fool  he  is,  to  drift  like  that!'  But  what  is  a 
fellow  to  do?  How  is  he  to  escape?  I'm  a  mill- 

I'ionaire — I'm   likely   to   be   several   times   that   if 

1  nothing  breaks.     I  didn't  wish  to  go  to  Newport, 

I  but  I  went.     I  don't  care  for  half  the  things  I 

243 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

do,  but  they  have  to  be  done;  that  is,  I  do  them 
of  my  own  accord,  when  the  time  comes,  and, 
though  I  kick,  I  know  I  should  regret  not  doing 
them  merely  because  they  seem  to  be  the  proper 
things  for  people  of  my  kind.  There  you  are.  I 
have  a  sort  of  double  self,  as  you  know.  It  isn't 
that  I'm  weak,  it's — what  do  you  call  it? — the 
force  of  my  environment.  And  a  millionaire's 
environment  has  a  pressure  of  two  hundred  pounds 
to  the  square  inch.  It's  the  same  with  the  women. 
What  with  rich  food,  splendid  apparel,  perpetual 
self-indulgence,  and  the  power  which  money  gives 
them  to  gratify  every  whim,  is  it  any  wonder  that 
they  don't  let  a  little  thing  like  the  marriage  vow 
stand  in  the  way  of  their  individual  preferences? 
Who  is  to  hold  them  to  account?  The  church? 
Some  of  them  go  to  church,  but  in  their  hearts 
they  are  satisfied  that  this  is  the  only  world.  And 
as  to  loss  of  social  position — of  which  they  really 
would  be  afraid — the  tide  is  with  them.  There 
are  too  many  sympathizers.  Or  at  least,  it  is  in 
convenient  to  be  obliged  to  hurt  other  people's 
feelings  in  a  free  country." 

"Rather  a  formidable  indictment  against  New 
port,"  said  Gordon. 

"It  isn't  against  Newport.  It's  against  the 
plutocracy  all  over  the  country.  Newport  merely 
happens  to  be  the  place  where  very  rich  men  with 
social  instincts  most  do  congregate  in  summer. 
My  domestic  tragedy  is  typical,  yet  sporadic. 
Every  season  has  its  crop,  but,  numerically,  it  is 
small.  Infidelity  is  only  one  of  the  phases  of  the 
spirit — but  the  spirit  is  rampant.  Money-money- 
money,  luxury-luxury-luxury,  self-self-self  (indi- 

244 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

vidualism,  they  call  it),  and  in  the  process  every 
thing  is  thrown  overboard,  except  the  American 
flag,  and  life  becomes  one  grand  hurrah,  boys,  with 
no  limitations,  save  murder  and  lack  of  physical 
cleanliness.  And  I  belong  to  the  procession,  my 
dear  fellow.  I'm  disgusted  with  it  at  the  moment, 
that's  why  I  rail.  But  in  six  months  I  shall  be  in 
it  again.  See  if  I'm  not." 

"You're  simply  depressed,  Paul,  and  no  won 
der,"  said  Gordon,  with  genial  solicitude.  "But 
we  mustn't  judge  our  plutocracy — aristocracy,  or 
whatever  you  choose  to  call  the  personal  repre 
sentatives  of  the  prosperity  of  the  country — by 
the  antics  of  a  few,  disgusting  as  they  are.  I 
agree  that  their  behavior  apes  the  frivolity  and 
license  of  the  old  French  court  without  its  ele 
gance,  and  I  don't  suppose  that  the  founders  of 
our  institutions  ever  included  a  leisure  class  as  a 
part  of  their  scheme.  Absorbed  in  ideals,  they 
neglected  to  take  poor  human  nature  sufficiently 
into  account.  We  have  lost  the  buffalo,  but  we 
have  acquired  a  leisure  class,  and  we  must  make 
the  best  of  it,  not  the  worst.  We  can't  cut  their 
heads  off;  this  is  a  free  country.  It  would  be 
dreadful — dreadful,  wouldn't  it,  if  our  institu 
tions,  of  which  we  are  so  proud,  were  to  produce 
merely  the  same  old  thing  over  again — a  leisure 
class  of  voluptuaries?"  Gordon  paused  for  a  mo 
ment  and  his  smile  died  away  at  the  vision  which 
his  words  evoked.  "I  don't  intend  to  believe  it; 
you  don't.  There  are  students  of  destiny  who 
maintain  that  nations  rise,  reach  maturity  and  de 
cline  by  regular  economic  laws,  but  that  human 
nature  never  really  improves.  That's  fatalism. 

245 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

The  free  play  of  human  individualism  is  having 
its  last  grand  chance  here  in  these  United  States. 
If  our  aristocracy  proves  no  better  than  any  other 
— if  the  rich  and  powerful  are  to  sneer  at  morals 
and  wallow  in  licentiousness,  we  couldn't  blame 
society  if  it  should  try  a  strong  dose  of  socialism, 
with  its  repressing,  monotonous  dead  level,  rather 
than  accept  the  doctrine  that  the  law  of  supply 
and  demand  is  the  sole  ruler  of  the  universe.  But 
as  good  Americans  we  can't  afford  to  judge  our 
plutocracy,  as  yet,  by  the  vices  of  a  few  people  at 
Newport." 

"They  sin  in  such  a  cold-blooded  way,"  said 
Paul.  "If  they  really  cared,  as  some  of  the  for 
eigners  do,  one  could  understand;  but  they  don't." 

"I  know.  It's  one  of  the  canons  of  old-world 
traditions  that  adultery  is  almost  redeemed  by  the 
possession  of  an  artistic  sense.  To  commit  the 
one  without  possessing  the  other,  may  be  no  worse 
morally,  yet  it  seems  much  more  vulgar.  But  we 
mustn't  take  them  too  seriously,  even  though  they 
are  our  countrymen  and  women.  They  are  the 
exceptions — the  excrescences.  Look  at  your  father, 
for  instance.  He  belongs  to  them — but  he  is  not 
of  them.  The  same  is  true  of  yourself;  and  it  is 
a  privilege,  with  all  its  responsibilities,  a  privilege 
I  envy  you.  Who  wouldn't  be  a  multi-millionaire 
if  he  could?  What  is  more  alluring  than  power?" 

Paul  returned  the  pressure  of  his  friend's  hand. 
"You're  a  good  fellow,  Don.  I  suppose  I'm 
hipped.  That's  not  my  way,  as  you  know.  Usu 
ally  everything  with  me  is  rose  color;  I'm  too 
good  an  American,  if  anything."  He  buttoned  his 
well-fitting  coat  with  a  dignified  air,  as  though  the 

246 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

pride  of  the  suggestion  had  stirred  his  pulses  like 
a  brass  band.  "The  trouble  is,  that  when  I'm  feel 
ing  well,  everything  goes,  and  the  only  thing 
which  seems  of  importance  is  to  come  out  ahead  of 
the  other  fellow.  So  we  kick  over  standards  and 
degenerate.  This  time  I've  been  struck  with  a 
club,  and — and  I  don't  see  that  it's  my  fault. 
Well,  good-bye.  As  soon  as  I  hear,  I'll  let  you 
know." 


247 


XVI 

THERE  was  only  one  shadow  on  Constance's 
present  happiness,  for  she  was  happy  in  her 
independence  and  her  work.  She  had  demon 
strated  her  ability  to  support  herself  and  to  defy 
the  blow  of  fate  which  had  deprived  her  of  a 
husband's  aid  and  protection.  It  was  the  growing 
perception  that  she  might  not  be  able  to  do  all 
she  desired  for  her  children.  This  sprang  from 
her  own  keener  appreciation  of  the  value  not  only 
of  the  best  educational  advantages,  but  of  refined 
personal  surroundings  in  the  development  of  char 
acter.  She  could  inculcate  noble  morals;  she 
could  teach  her  children  to  be  truthful,  brave,  and 
simple;  she  could  provide  them  with  public  school 
instruction,  and  she  was  resolved  to  give  them,  if 
her  health  remained  good,  the  opportunity  to  con 
tinue  their  education  longer  than  was  the  wont 
with  parents  whose  offspring  had  their  own  way 
to  make  in  life  unaided.  But  her  ambition,  or 
rather  her  perception  of  what  she  desired  for 
them,  did  not  stop  here.  There  were  present  de 
mands  which  must  be  neglected  solely  because 
of  her  straitened  circumstances;  and  she  beheld 
ahead  a  long  and  widening  vista  of  privileges 
from  which,  perforce,  they  would  be  debarred 
during  the  formative  years  for  a  similar  reason. 
Henrietta's  teeth  were  disconcertingly  crooked, 
and  should  have  the  continuous  attention  of  a  skil- 

248 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ful  dentist,  and  her  voice  had  already  that  nasal 
twang  which,  if  unchecked,  is  sure  to  result  in 
feminine  inelegance  of  speech.  She  wished  that 

i  both  the  children,  especially  the  girl,  might  have 
thorough  instruction  in  French  and  music,  and  be 
sent  to  dancing  school.  Little  Emil  was  giving 
signs  of  marked  talent  for  drawing,  and  the 
thought  of  how  that  gift  could  be  developed,  was 
already  causing  her  concern.  It  was  obvious  to 

iher  that  each  of  the  next  ten  years  had  more  in 
sistent  instances  in  store  for  her.  She  knew  that 
she  could  give  her  children  what  the  democratic 
world  delights  to  call  a  solid  foundation,  but  she 
was  eager  to  equip  them  with  stimulating  mental 
ideals  and  bodily  graces,  to  put  them  within  reach 

Kof  excellence  and  culture. 

She  was  too  grateful  to  repine  or  to  allow  this 
shadow  to  oppress  her  spirit.  Its  sole  effect  was 
to  stimulate  her  energies,  to  make  her  fertile  in 
resources  to  counteract  this  disability,  and  pains 
taking  in  attention  to  her  duties  in  the  hope  of  a 
small  increase  in  salary.  She  kept  a  close  watch 
on  Henrietta's  voice,  and  put  her  on  her  own 
guard  against  its  piercing  quality;  she  organized  a 
small  dancing  class  from  among  the  children  in 
Lincoln  Chambers  for  one  evening  in  the  week, 
and  from  her  own  past  experience  essayed  their 
instruction  in  waltzing  and  social  decorum.  Also, 
on  Sunday  afternoons,  she  would  often  lure  Emil 
and  Henrietta  to  the  new  Art  Museum  and  give 
them  the  opportunity  which  her  own  youth  had 
lacked  to  discern  artistic  form  and  color,  and  to 
acquire  inspiration  from  world-famous  or  ex 
emplary  paintings  and  sculpture.  Then  there  sud- 

249 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

denly  came  to  her  as  treasure-trove  a  new  fund  to 
be  drawn  on  for  such  purposes.  Her  employer, 
scanning  the  field  of  philanthropy  by  the  light  of 
his  own  professional  experience,  had  realized  that 
there  was  need  in  Benham  of  a  legal  aid  society — 
that  is,  of  an  organization  which  would  defray 
the  charges  of  a  firm  of  attorneys  to  whom  people 
in  utter  distress,  without  means,  and  with  petty  but 
desperate  grievances  in  which  busy  lawyers  could 
not  afford  to  interest  themselves,  could  apply  for 
succor.  When  it  appeared  that  the  clerical  duties 
incident  to  the  fund  collected  for  this  charity  must 
be  performed  by  some  suitable  person,  it  occurred 
to  Gordon  Perry — he  had  been  seeking  some  such 
occasion — that  Mrs.  Stuart  would  make  an  ad 
mirable  secretary  and  treasurer,  especially  as  he 
intended  that  the  society  should  pay  two  hundred 
dollars  for  the  annual  service.  Constance's  heart 
throbbed  with  delight  at  the  announcement,  and 
the  first  fifty  dollars  was  devoted  by  her  to  the 
treatment  of  Henrietta's  irregular  front  teeth. 
Would  she  be  able  some  day  to  send  Emil  to  col 
lege?  Might  she  hope  that  her  daughter  would 
grow  to  be  thoroughly  a  lady,  not  merely  a  smart, 
self-sufficient  woman,  but  a  gracious,  refined,  ex 
quisite  spirit  like  Mrs.  Randolph  Wilson?  In  her 
outlook  for  her  children's  future,  she  had  become 
aware  that  she  had  set  up  two  individuals  for 
emulation :  the  woman  whose  aesthetic  Christianity 
had  enriched  her  life,  and  the  man  whose  un 
affected  intelligence  and  vigor  offered  to  her  daily 
observation  an  example  of  honorable  modern  liv 
ing.  To  lift  her  own  flesh  and  blood  above  the 
rut  of  mediocre  aims  and  attainments  was  now 

250 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

the  ambition  of  her  soul,  and  she  was  ready  to 
strain  every  nerve  to  bring  this  to  pass. 

Her  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Perry  had  ripened 
into  intimacy.  The  old  lady  had  taken  a  strong 
fancy  to  her,  and  the  liking  was  cordially  recipro 
cated.  This  meant  increasing  friendliness  on  both 
sides.  Not  infrequently,  on  her  return  from  the 
office,  Constance  would  find  her  in  possession  at 
Lincoln  Chambers  with  the  room  warm,  five 
o'clock  tea  ready,  Henrietta  in  her  lap  and  Emil 
beside  her,  listening  to  absorbing  reading  or 
stories,  each  of  which  had  a  pungent,  personal 
flavor,  with  a  not  too  obtrusive  moral.  On  the 
other  hand,  Constance  was  asked  to  dine  every 
now  and  then  in  the  new  house,  and  after  dinner, 
sometimes  it  happened  that  they  went  to  the  thea 
tre  with  Mr.  Perry,  or  on  evenings  when  he  was 
busy,  the  two  women  would  sit  cosily  with  their 
work,  and  conversation  never  flagged.  Women, 
when  sympathetically  attached  to  each  other, 
seem  to  be  inexhaustible  reservoirs  of  speech, 
which  flow  with  a  bubbling  copiousness  bewilder 
ing  to  masculine  ears.  In  their  case,  the  hands  of 
the  clock  set  the  only  limit  to  their  mutual  enjoy 
ment.  The  hour  of  departure  brought  the  single 
uncomfortable  moments  of  the  evening  for  Con 
stance — that  is,  for  the  first  two  evenings.  Her 
apartment  was  a  full  mile  distant,  but  her  friends' 
house  was  not  more  than  two  hundred  yards  from 
a  line  of  electric  cars  which  passed  within  a  block 
from  her  own  door.  Until  Gordon  Perry,  who 
came  out  of  his  library  to  say  good-night,  an 
nounced  his  intention  of  accompanying  her  home, 
the  idea  had  never  occurred  to  her  that  it  was 

251 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

necessary,  or  that  he  would  offer  his  escort.  Yet 
such  are  the  inconsistencies  of  the  feminine  mind 
that  the  moment  he  did  so  she  became  aware  that, 
if  he  had  not  offered  it,  she  would  have  felt  a 
trifle  hurt.  At  the  same  time  she  did  not  wish 
him  to  accompany  her.  It  would  be  obviously  a 
superfluous  piece  of  politeness;  there  was  no  risk 
of  any  kind  in  going  home  in  the  cars  alone.  She 
told  him  this  in  a  few  words  of  clear  remon 
strance.  But  he  smilingly  put  on  his  overcoat, 
said  it  was  a  beautiful  moonlight  night,  and  as 
sured  her  that  he  was  anxious  for  a  walk  before 
going  to  bed.  The  idea  of  his  walking  only  made 
the  situation  worse.  Constance  turned  to  his 
mother  for  support,  but  Mrs.  Perry  cordially  sec 
onded  his  assertion  that  it  would  do  him  good, 
so  there  was  no  escape  from  acceptance.  The 
thought  of  having  dragged  a  busy  man — and  her 
employer — out  of  his  house  at  night  disturbed  her 
equanimity  all  the  way  home,  so  that  although 
she  delighted  in  having  him  as  a  companion  in 
the  exhilarating  autumn  air,  under  a  glorious 
moon,  she  determined  to  prevent  its  recurrence. 
Yet,  as  she  approached  her  destination,  the  fear 
of  seeming  ungracious  supervened,  and  she  had 
almost  decided  to  postpone  her  protest  until  the 
next  time,  when  he  unwittingly  gave  her  an  op 
portunity  to  speak  by  remarking  that  he  hoped 
that  this  was  only  one  of  many  evenings  which 
she  would  spend  with  them  during  the  winter. 
"You  must  know,"  he  added,  "that  my  mother 
has  taken  a  great  fancy  to  you,  and  that  it  will  not 
suit  her  at  all  if  you  are  niggardly  in  your  visits." 
Constance  smiled  acquiescingly.  "I  love  your 
252 


Constance  would  find  her  in  possession  at  Lincoln  Chambers 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

mother,"  she  said,  "and  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to 
me  to  come  as  often  as  she  wishes."  At  the  same 
instant  she  said  to  herself,  "Now  for  it!"  Where 
upon  she  began  sturdily,  "Only,  Mr.  Perry " 

Why  did  she  pause  ?  She  was  at  a  loss  to  know. 
It  was  the  reverse  of  her  custom  to  begin  a  sen 
tence  and  leave  it  dangling  in  this  unfinished  man 
ner.  She  accused  herself  of  being  a  goose,  and, 
simultaneously  she  took  a  new  breath  to  go  on, 
only  to  be  met  by  her  companion's  blithe  sally : 

"Only  what,  Mrs  Stuart?"  She  could  see  that 
his  eyes  were  laughing.  Did  he  divine  what  was 
choking  her? 

"Only  this :  if  I  come  to  your  mother,  you  must 
let  me  go  home  by  myself.  The  electric  cars  are  a 
stone's  throw  from  your  house,  and  run  close  to 
mine,  so  there  is  not  the  slightest  necessity 
for  your  incommoding  yourself."  She  paused, 
troubled.  The  last  turn  of  the  sentence,  though 
it  expressed  her  meaning,  had  not  the  felicitous 
sound  she  desired. 

"I  came  because  I  knew  it  would  give  me  pleas 
ure,"  he  answered,  quickly,  still  with  a  laughing 
light  in  his  eyes,  under  which  she  let  her  own  fall 
quite  unnecessarily,  as  it  seemed  to  her.  She  was 
provoked  with  herself.  The  dialogue  had  ac 
quired  the  aspect  of  social  give  and  take,  which 
was  entirely  remote  from  her  intention. 

"I  have  enjoyed  it,  too."  She  felt  that  this 
was  the  least  she  could  say.  "But  there  is  no 
need;  besides,  Mr.  Perry,  you  are  my  employer, 
and — and — "  (she  was  halting  again,  but  she  bit 
her  lip  and  plunged  forward,  seeking  only  to  make 
herself  clear)  "that  does  make  a  difference — it 

253 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

should  make  a  difference.  If  I  were — if  I  were 
not  your  stenographer,  I  should  probably  go  home 
in  a  carnage,  but  I  can't  afford  one,  and — and  the 
cars  are  perfectly  safe  and  comfortable.  I  am 
used  to  looking  after  myself." 

Her  cheeks  were  burning.  She  had  said  what 
she  meant  to  say,  but  it  sounded  crude  and  almost 
harsh.  She  wondered  now  why  it  had  seemed 
necessary  to  her  to  make  such  a  pother.  As  no 
immediate  answer  came  from  Mr.  Perry,  she  stole 
a  glance  at  his  face.  It  had  grown  almost  grave, 
and  there  was  a  different  light  in  his  eyes — a  curi 
ous  expression  which  puzzled  her.  "I  hope  you 
understand,"  she  said,  "and  that  I  do  not  seem 
ungracious." 

"I  understand  perfectly.  I  was  admiring  your 
sense — your  sanity.  Such  things  do  make  a  differ 
ence — must  make  a  difference,  so  long  as  human 
nature  is  constituted  as  it  is;  but  every  woman  has 
not  the  hardihood  to  accept  the  limitations  of  her 
social  lot.  As  you  say,  you  are  used  to  looking 
after  yourself.  I  should  not  have  been  guilty  of 
a  breach  of  manners,  had  I  allowed  you  to  go 
home  in  a  car  as  you  came — put  you  into  one, 
perhaps,  at  the  street  corner,  if  I  were  not  occu 
pied.  That  would  have  been  the  natural  course 
under  all  the  circumstances,  although  it  might 
have  been  equally  natural  to  treat  another  woman 
with  more  ceremony.  I  came  with  you  to-night 
because  it  gave  me  pleasure,  as  I  told  you,  and 
because  I  wished  you  to  understand  that  the  rela 
tions  between  us  are  not  those  of  employer  and 
employee,  but  social  in  every  sense.  You  are  my 
mother's  friend  and  mine." 

254 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Constance's  nerves  tingled  pleasantly  at  the 
apostrophe.  "You  are  very  good.  You  have  al 
ways  been  kindness  itself  to  me.  I  have  felt  that 
you  both  were  my  friends."  She  put  out  her  hand 
shyly  and  gratefully  to  bid  him  good-night,  and 
at  the  same  time  to  indicate  the  warmth  in  her 
/heart.  "But  now  that  I  do  understand,"  she  add- 
j  ed,  "you  must  be  sensible,  too,  and  realize  that  I 
do  not  need,  an  escort."  She  was  rather  appalled 
by  her  own  boldness.  His  plea  had  only  strength 
ened  her  feeling  that  his  politeness  was  superflu 
ous. 

"Do  you  forbid  it?"  he  asked,  with  an  inflec 
tion  of  gayety. 

She  could  not  help  smiling.  "I  cannot  do  that, 
you  know.  But  if  you  wish  to  make  me  feel  en- 
'tirely  at  home,  you  will  limit  yourself  at  most  to 
seeing  me  safely  on  a  car  at  your  street  corner." 
She  felt  that  she  had  touched  firmer  ground — that 
she  was  making  her  claim  as  a  friend  of  the  fam- 
iily,  not  being  forced  against  her  will  into  the  pose 
<of  a  coquette. 

"A  compromise!"  he  ejaculated.     "And  what  a 
« one-sided  one." 

"Life  is  made  up  of  compromises,  is  it  not? 
I  thought  I  was  being  very  generous." 

There  was  a  gentle,  plaintive  cadence  to  her 
words  which  both  charmed  his  ear  and  touched 
his  sensibilities.  Was  she  about  to  strike  her  flag 
in  the  last  ditch  out  of  sheer  weariness  at  his 
bravado? 

"My  only  wish  would  be  to  please  you,"  he 
said  with  sudden  earnestness. 

Constance  looked  at  him  wonderingly,  a  little 

255 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

appalled  at  the  change  in  his  manner  and  speech. 
What  had  called  forth  their  intensity?  She  be 
came  conscious  that  the  blood  was  rising  to  her 
cheeks  again,  and  that  she  had  lost  her  composure 
a  second  time.  For  an  instant  Gordon  gazed 
at  her  eagerly,  as  though  he  enjoyed  her  bewilder 
ment,  then  with  a  return  of  gayety,  he  exclaimed: 
"But  I  promise  nothing — nothing." 
He  raised  his  hat  and  Constance,  .who  had  al 
ready  entered  the  vestibule  of  her  apartment- 
house,  stood  irresolute  before  ascending  the  stairs 
as  one  in  a  trance.  She  was  displeased  with  her 
self;  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  it  had  seemed  to 
her  that  her  tongue  and  her  wits  were  not  under  the 
control  of  her  will.  Presently  she  reflected  that 
she  might  be  working  too  hard  and  was  run  down, 
which  on  the  whole,  was  comforting,  until  she 
looked  in  her  mirror  and  saw  there  the  refutation 
of  this  theory  in  her  own  hue  of  health.  No,  it 
could  not  be  this,  for  there  was  no  blinking  the 
fact  that  she  had  improved  notably  in  her  appear 
ance  of  late,  which  was  comforting  in  a  different 
way.  She  was  so  struck  by  the  fact  that  she  stood 
for  a  moment  surveying  her  face  and  figure  with 
contemplative  surprise.  But  why  had  Mr.  Perry 
been  so  queer?  She  asked  herself  that  question 
more  than  once  before  she  fell  asleep,  and  in  the 
morning  ascribed  it  to  her  own  social  inaptness. 

The  next  occasion  when  she  spent  the  evening 
with  Mrs.  Perry  was  a  fortnight  later.  When 
she  was  ready  to  go  home  Gordon  put  on  his  over 
coat  without  a  word  and  confronted  her  tantaliz- 
ingly.  She  was  conscious  of  a  little  disappoint 
ment,  for,  in  spite  of  his  declaration  of  independ- 

256 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

;  snce,  she  had  believed  that  he  would  not  persist, 
ibut  as  he  opened  the  front  door  she  heard  the 
! welcome  words: 

uTo-night  I  am  going  to  comply  with  your  wish 
by  putting  you  on  a  car  at  the  next  corner." 

"Thank  you,  very  much."  She  forebore  to 
add  what  was  in  her  mind,  that  it  was  the  only 
sensible  way.  But  her  little  triumph  gave  elastic 
ity  to  her  steps. 

For  the  first  few  moments  the  night  seemed  to 

set  a  seal  upon  his  lips  as  he  walked  beside  her, 

so  that  his  response  had  the  effect  of  being  pon- 

•dered.     "My  desire  is  to  please  you.     But  I  shall 

j  reserve  the  right  of  pleasing  myself  now  and  then 

as  I  did  the  other  day." 

"It  pleased  me,  too,"  Constance  said,  amiably. 
"What  I  feared  was  that  it  might  become  a  cus 
tom — an  unnecessary  burden." 

Gordon  signalled  an  approaching  car.  "A  bur 
den?  Mrs.  Stuart,  the  burden  of  walking  home 
by  moonlight  with  the  wrong  woman  is  one  which 
men  generally  manage  to  shift." 

Constance  laughed.  "Perhaps  I  should  have 
thought  of  that.  But  now  you  will  be  protected 
at  all  events." 

From  her  seat  in  the  electric  car  she  beheld  him 
standing  at  the  street  corner  until  his  figure  was  lost 
in  the  shadows  of  the  night.  She  felt  complacent. 
She  had  gained  her  point,  and  since  it  was  on 
terms  need  she  feel  otherwise  than  happy  at  the 
prospect  of  having  him  sometimes  as  a  companion 
on  her  journeys  home?  The  more  she  could  see 
of  him  rightfully,  without  encroaching  on  his 
time,  surely  the  better  for  her.  The  discretion 

257 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

rested  with  him,  not  with  her;  she  was  simply  the 
fortunate  beneficiary. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  once  in  three  or  four 
times  Gordon  would  exercise  his  privilege;  and 
as  another  year  slipped  away  and  the  spring 
brought  milder  nights  and  more  inviting  sidewalks, 
the  occasions  became  more  frequent,  so  that  before 
either  seemed  to  be  aware  of  it,  the  custom 
of  riding  was  more  honored  in  the  breach 
than  the  observance,  and  this  without  further  dis 
cussion.  They  would  simply  start  as  though 
she  were  to  take  an  electric  car,  and  before  reach 
ing  the  corner  he  would  casually  interrupt  their 
discourse  to  say,  "It  is  a  fine  night;  shall  we 
walk?"  to  which  Constance  would  reply,  "If  you 
like."  After  a  while  even  this  formula  was  dis 
pensed  with,  and  she  was  ready  to  take  for 
granted  that  they  both  preferred  the  exercise. 
One  day  he  asked  permission  to  accompany  her 
and  her  children  on  one  of  their  Sunday  afternoon 
strolls  into  the  country,  a  proposal  which  startled 
her,  but  which  she  had  no  obvious  excuse  for  re 
fusing.  On  their  return  home  from  the  excursion 
Henrietta  and  little  Emil  were  so  enthusiastic  over 
this  addition  to  the  party  that  she  felt  reluctant 
on  their  account  to  prevent  its  repetition.  So  the 
experience  was  renewed  every  now  and  then,  and, 
since  he  seemed  to  enjoy  it,  she  accepted  it  as  one 
of  the  pleasures  which  Providence  had  thrown  in 
her  way. 

Intimacy  naturally  resulted  from  this  increas 
ing  association.  It  was  a  constant  comfort  to 
Constance  that  Mr.  Perry  was  such  a  natural  per 
son;  that  he  obviously  liked  her  for  herself,  but 

258 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

did  not  affect  to  ignore  or  gloss  over  the  fact  that 
her  life  was  circumscribed  and  straitened  by  her 
necessities;  that,  while  assuming  that  she  was  in 
terested  in  and  able  to  appreciate  the  finer  aspira 
tions  and  concerns  of  existence,  he  let  her  perceive 
that  he  understood  her  predicament.  Consequent 
ly  she  felt  at  liberty  and  encouraged  to  speak  to 
him  from  time  to  time  on  the  subject  nearest  her 
heart — the  advancement  of  her  children — and  to 
ask  advice  in  relation  thereto. 

On  one  of  their  evenings — a  moonlight  night, 
which  rivalled  in  beauty  that  when  he  had  first  ac 
companied  her — she  had  been  consulting  him  as  to 
the  conditions  of  a  free  art  school  recently  started 
in  the  new  Art  Museum,  having  little  Emil  in 
mind.  After  a  short  silence  she  suddenly  said, 
"I  admire  your  mother  greatly,  as  you  know. 
But  sometimes  I  am  doubtful  whether  she  does 
not  discourage  me  even  more  than  she  gives  me 
hope;  her  example,  I  mean.  She  brought  you  up. 
She  was  almost  as  friendless  as  I.  I  dare  say  she 
did  not  have  so  many  friends.  Yet — yet  you  are 
you.  She  managed  to  give  you  everything." 

"God  bless  her,  yes,  brave  heart  that  she  is." 

"But " 

He  cut  her  pensive  conjunctive  short.  "I  can 
guess  what  you  are  going  to  say.  Excuse  me;  go 


on." 


"I  cannot  give  my  children  everything.  But 
everything,  then,  would  not  be  everything  now." 

"I  divined  your  thought."  The  sympathy 
radiating  from  his  sturdy  tone  brought  a  pleasant 
light  to  her  eyes. 

"Yet  you  are  you,"  she  reasserted. 
259 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

He  laughed.  "Logician  and  flatterer!  But 
you  are  right.  My  mother  would  have  had  a  far 
harder  struggle  had  she  begun  to-day.  She  might 
not  have  been  able  to  give  me  everything,  for 
everything  then  was  not  everything  now,  as  you 
have  said." 

"Yet  you  have  everything,"  she  persisted, 
doughtily. 

"Even  if  that  were  true,  it  would  not  signify. 
You  are  facing  a  condition,  not  a  theory.  Flour 
and  sugar  and  standard  oil  may  be  cheaper  to-day, 
but  the  demands  of  civilization  on  the  individual 
are  so  much  greater — of  civilization  everywhere, 
but  especially  in  this  country,  where  the  growth  of 
prosperity  has  been  so  prodigious  and  the  stress 
of  competition  has  become  so  fierce." 

"Oh,  yes;  oh,  yes.  You  understand,"  she  said, 
eagerly.  "There  are  so  many  things  which  I 
should  like  to  give  my  children  which  I  cannot — 
which  I  know  are  beyond  my  reach,  but  which 
would  be  of  infinite  service  to  them  in  the  struggle 
to  make  the  most  of  life.  You  spoke  to  me  once 
of  the  limitation  of  my  social  lot.  That  is 
nothing.  What  is  hard  for  a  mother  to  bear  is 
the  consciousness  that  her  children  will  fall  short 
of  what  she  would  wish  them  to  become  because 
she  has  not  the  power  to  secure  for  them  the  best. 
Yet  it  must  be  borne,  and  borne  bravely." 

"Yes,  it  is  lamentably  hard.  The  chief  blot  on 
the  triumph  of  individualism — on  the  American 
principle  of  the  development  of  self — is  that  the 
choicest  privileges  of  civilization  should  hang  be 
yond  the  reach  of  those  who  are  handicapped 
merely  because  they  are  handicapped.  The  de- 

260 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

struction  of  the  poor  is  their  poverty,  as  my  old 
school-master  used  to  state,  though  I  didn't  know 
then  what  he  meant.  And  it  must  be  borne,  as 
you  say.  Even  here,  where  everything  is  pos 
sible  to  the  individual,  renunciation  still  stares 
the  majority  in  the  face  as  the  inexorable 
virtue." 

"Surely,"  she  answered,  with  simple  pathos. 
"Thank  you  for  understanding  me.  I  knew  you 
would.  If  I  struggle,  it  is  because  I  am  so  ambi 
tious  for  my  children  to  rise.  I  would  not  have 
them  remain  mere  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers 
of  water — one  of  the  majority  you  speak  of — as 
I  have  been." 

He  turned  his  face  toward  her.  "You  are  far 
more  than  that,  you  are  a  sweet  woman.  You 
must  not  underestimate  character  in  your  recogni 
tion  of  the  power  of  things.  You  can  give  your 
children  that,  and  it  is  no  cant  to  say  that  char 
acter  remains  everlastingly  the  backbone  of  human 
progress." 

"Things!"  she  echoed,  ignoring  apparently 
both  the  tribute  and  the  consolation  proffered. 
"That  is  the  word."  She  hugged  her  thought  in 
silence  for  a  moment  as  though  fascinated. 
"When  I  was  a  girl  there  were  no  things  to  speak 
of;  now — "  she  paused  and  sighed;  evidently  the 
vision  which  her  spirit  entertained  disconcerted  her 
powers  of  speech.  "It  is  not  that  I  wish  my  chil 
dren  to  be  rich — merely  rich,  Mr.  Perry.  You 
know  that.  It  is  that  I  wish  them  to  be  able  to 
appreciate,  to  feel,  to  enjoy  what  is  best  in  life. 
You  spoke  of  the  power  of  character  just  now. 
There  is  Mrs.  Randolph  Wilson.  She  has  all  the 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

virtues  of  plain  character  and  so  much  more  be 
sides.  Compare  her  with  a  woman  like  me." 

"Mrs  Randolph  Wilson!"  His  tone  revealed 
his  surprise  at  the  antithesis.  "I  see.  I  see,"  he 
repeated,  interested  by  the  completeness  of  the 
contrast. 

"I  owe  so  much  to  her,"  Constance  murmured. 
"Before  I  knew  her  my  outlook  was  so  narrow 
and  colorless.  She  has  taught  me  to  enrich  my 
life,  poor  as  it  still  is." 

"She  is  a  fine  woman.  And  yet,  in  my  opinion, 
you  need  not  fear  comparison  with  Mrs.  Wilson." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Perry!"  She  stopped  short  for  an 
instant  in  recoil.  The  protesting  astonishment  of 
her  exclamation  showed  him  not  only  that  he  had 
violated  a  temple  by  his  words,  but  that,  as  a 
consequence,  she  believed  him  insincere,  which  in 
her  eyes  would  be  a  more  grievous  fault. 

"It  is  quite  true,"  he  said  with  decision.  "You 
are  very  different;  but  it  is  quite  true.  Your  out 
look  was  narrow,  perhaps,  but  it  was  clear  and 
straight." 

"Oh,  no.  You  do  not  know  her,  then,  nor  me. 
I  tried  to  see  clearly  according  to  my  lights,  but 
that  is  just  it — my  lights  were  defective,  and  I 
saw  only  half  the  truth  until  she  revealed  it  to 


me." 


"Mrs.  Wilson  has  had  great  opportunities." 
"Yes,  indeed.  And  she  has  taken  advantage  of 
them.  Great  opportunities!"  she  repeated  with 
an  exultant  sigh.  "They  are  what  I  had  in  mind 
a  few  minutes  ago ;  not  for  myself,  you  know,  but 
for  my  children.  I  envy — yes,  I  envy  opportuni 
ties  for  them."  Her  voice  had  a  quiver  as  though 

262 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

!  she  were  daring  a  confession  to  the  sphinx-like 
stars. 

She  had  changed  the  emphasis  of  the  dialogue, 
but  Gordon  pursued  his  tenor.  "Her  daughter 
has  had  every  opportunity,  yet  her  mother  can 
scarcely  regard  her  with  pride." 

"I  barely  know  Mrs.  Waldo.  It  was  just  be 
fore  her  wedding  that  her  mother  was  so  kind  to 
to  me.  I  saw  her  once  or  twice  at  the  house,  but 
only  for  a  moment." 

"At  least  she  has  made  a  mess  of  her  mar 
riage." 

Constance  started.  "It  is  true,  then,  what  was 
in  the  newspapers?" 

"It  is  true  that  she  and  her  husband  have 
agreed  to  separate.  It  is  an  open  secret  that  she 
has  gone  to  Sioux  Falls  in  order  to  obtain  a  divorce 
on  a  colorless  ground  in  the  shortest  possible  time. 
They  will  both  be  free  in  less  than  a  year." 

"How  terrible !  Loretta  Davis  read  me  a  para 
graph  last  week  to  the  effect  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Waldo  were  not  happy.  I  set  it  down  as  baseless 
gossip.  It  seemed  to  me  impossible  that  Mrs. 
Wilson's  daughter —  Ah,  I  am  so  sorry  for  Mrs. 
Wilson." 

"She  was  in  the  office  last  week." 

"I  remember." 

"She  came  to  consult  me;  to  see  if  anything 
could  be  done.  She  has  reasoned  with  her  daugh 
ter — used  every  argument  in  her  arsenal — but 
without  avail.  Mrs.  Waldo's  one  idea  is  to  be 
free.  And  yet  she  has  had  every  opportunity." 

"But  that  proves  nothing,  Mr.  Perry,  surely." 
They  had  reached  the  threshold  of  Lincoln  Cham- 

263 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

bers.     There  was  the  courage  of  conviction  in  the 
frank  gaze  she  bent  on  him. 

"Only  that  the  power  to  have  everything  may 
numb  the  spirit  and  make  individual  self-will  the 
sole  arbiter  of  conduct." 

"Agreed.  But  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  civi 
lization  offers  us  more  to-day  than  it  ever  did,  if 
we  can  only  be  put  within  reach  of  it.  The 
thought  sometimes  haunts  me  that  I  may  die  and 
Henrietta  grow  up  to  be  like — like  Loretta  Davis; 
never  know  what  life  may  mean,  because  she  has 
not  had  the  chance." 

He  looked  at  her  admiringly.  "I  am  more 
than  half  teasing  you,"  he  said.  "While  it  is  true 
that  the  general  standard  of  living  is  higher  than 
ever  before,  it  remains  true  as  ever  that  only  the 
attuned  spirit  can  grasp  and  utilize  the  best.  To 
argue  otherwise  would  be  cant." 

"So  it  seems  to  me,"  she  said,  with  her  air  of 
direct  simplicity. 

"As  for  this  tragedy — for  it  is  a  tragedy  al 
most  Sophoclean  in  its  scope,  as  you  will  presently 
learn,  my  lips  are  sealed  for  the  moment  beyond 
what  I  have  told  you.  But  you  are  right  in  your 
enthusiasm  for  Mrs.  Wilson.  She  is  in  touch  with 
the  temper  of  the  world's  progress — according  to 
her  lights." 

She  smiled  faintly.  "I  still  wish  I  were  more 
like  her." 

Gordon  seemed  for  a  moment  to  be  pondering 
this  assertion,  then  fixing  her  with  his  eyes,  said: 
"I  believe  you  have  never  heard  anything  from 
your  husband  since  he  deserted  you?" 

"Nothing." 

264 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"You  do  not  know  his  whereabouts,  nor  whether 
he  is  alive  or  dead?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"More  than  three  years  have  elapsed.  So  you 
;are  entitled  to  a  divorce  in  this  State,  if  you  see  fit 
to  claim  it." 

Constance  had  listened  in  astonishment.  His 
tone  was  so  respectful  that  she  could  not  take  of 
fence.  He  seemed  to  be  merely  informing  her  as 
to  her  rights ;  and  though  the  topic  had  never  been 
broached  up  to  this  time  between  them,  was  he  not 
her  intimate  friend?  Nevertheless  she  felt  agi 
tated. 

"It  has  never  occurred  to  me  that  a  divorce 
would  be  desirable,"  she  answered  with  as  much 
formality  as  her  dislike  of  artifice  allowed  her  to 
adopt.  Then,  yielding  to  curiosity  or  the  inclina 
tion  to  break  another  lance  with  him,  she  added: 
"Of  what  benefit  would  it  be  to  me  to  seek  a 
divorce?" 

"Merely  that  the  bond  is  already  broken;  what 
remains  is  a  husk." 

"My  husband  may  return."  The  response 
struck  her  as  futile;  still  it  had  risen  to  her  lips 
as  a  convenient  possibility. 

"That  is  true.  But  if  he  did  return  after  what 
has  happened,  I  should  think — I  have  no  right 
to  invade  your  privacy — "  He  stopped  short,  evi 
dently  appalled  by  the  sound  of  his  own  presump 
tion. 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  It  would  have  been 
easy  for  Constance  to  leave  his  inquiry  where  he 
had  left  it,  but  her  love  for  the  truth  caused  her 
first  to  face  the  issue  thus  presented,  and  having 

265 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

solved  it  by  one  full  glance,  to  bear  testimony  to 
what  was  in  her  heart.  Why  she  felt  this  frank 
ness  necessary,  she  did  not  know,  unless  it  were 
that  he  was  such  a  friend  she  did  not  wish  him  to 
think  he  had  offended.  The  interval  was  only 
momentary,  but  she  appeared  to  herself  to  have 
been  standing  speechless  in  the  presence  of  the 
ashes  of  her  past  for  an  awkward  period  before 
she  said: 

"My  husband  said  when  he  went  away  that  we 
could  never  be  happy  together.    I  do  not  wish  him 


to  return." 


She  realized  she  was  telling  him  her  love  was 
dead.  It  was  the  truth;  why  should  he  not  know? 
She  heard  him  draw  a  deep  breath.  Suddenly  re 
membering  the  argument  which  had  provoked  his 
question,  her  mind  flew  to  it  for  refuge  and  shel 
tered  itself  behind  it  as  a  bulwark. 

"But  that  is  no  reason  why  I  should  seek  a  di 
vorce.  A  divorce  could  not  alter  the  situation." 

He  hesitated  a  moment  as  though  he  were  about 
to  continue  the  discussion,  then  evidently  thought 
better  of  it.  "I  simply  wished  you  to  know  your 
rights.  Good-night." 


266 


XVII 

A  S  she  reached  the  landing  upon  which  her  own 
d~*-  apartment  opened,  Constance  noticed  that 
dhere  was  a  light  in  Loretta  Davis's  room.  Lor- 

tta  was  now  a  full-fledged  nurse.  That  is,  she  had 
:ompleted  her  course  at  the  hospital,  and  was 
taking  cases  of  her  own.  She  had  already  ob 
tained  two  or  three  through  the  patronage  of  Mrs. 
Wilson,  but  she  happened  to  be  out  of  work  at 
the  moment.  It  occurred  to  Constance  that  she 
would  impart  her  information  to  her  neighbor. 
Loretta  was  deeply  interested  in  everything  which 
concerned  their  benefactress.  Loretta  had  seen 
what  was  in  the  newspapers,  and,  since  it  was  true, 
why  should  not  she  know?  This  was  a  plausible 
excuse  for  gratifying  that  strong  desire  to  share 
ler  knowledge  which  assails  every  woman  who  has 
something  to  tell.  Had  it  been  a  real  secret,  Con 
stance  would  have  been  adamant.  As  it  was,  she 
did  not  appreciate  until  too  late  that  this  was  just 
the  sort  of  subject  which  she  and  Loretta  could 
not  discuss  sympathetically.  She  was  sorry  for 
ler;  she  did  her  best  to  befriend  and  encourage 
ler,  and  tried  to  like  her;  but  though  they  got  on 
pleasantly,  their  point  of  view  was  apt  to  be  radi 
cally  different. 

Loretta  opened  the  door.  "Oh,  it's  you,  Con 
stance.  I'd  made  up  my  mind  that  someone  had 
sent  for  me." 

267 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"I'm  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  Loretta.  But  I've 
something  to  tell  you — something  you'll  be  dis 
tressed  to  hear.  What  you  read  in  the  newspaper 
about  Mrs.  Wilson's  daughter — the  Waldos — is 


true." 


Then  she  repeated  briefly  what  she  knew,  omit 
ting  reference  to  Mrs.  Wilson's  visit  to  the  office. 
Loretta  listened  with  parted  lips  and  an  expression 
in  her  usually  matter-of-fact  face  curiously  com 
pounded  of  solicitude  and  knowingness,  as  though 
commiseration  and  the  glamor  of  the  scandal  were 
contending  forces. 

"I  knew  it  was  true;  the  newspapers  wouldn't 
have  printed  it  unless  there'd  been  something  in  it. 
My!  but  she'll  feel  bad,  won't  she?" 

"It  will  wound  -her  terribly." 

"How  did  your  boss  find  out?" 

Constance  winced.  Somehow  the  epithet  jarred 
worse  than  usual,  and  she  felt  that  she  could  not 
stand  it.  The  experiences  of  the  evening  were  on 
her  nerves,  though  sympathy  for  Mrs.  Wilson  had 
thrust  her  personal  emotions  to  the  back  of  her 
mind  for  more  leisurely  inspection. 

"You  mustn't  call  him  that,  Loretta.  It  doesn't 
express  him  at  all." 

Loretta  looked  surprised  and  laughed. 
"What's  the  matter?  He  is  your  boss,  isn'l 
he?"  she  asserted.  "Oh,  well — your  employer, 
Mr.  Gordon  Perry,  Esq.,  counsellor-at-law,  i: 
that'll  suit  you.  My !  but  you're  getting  red." 

Constance  was  annoyed  with  herself  for  having 
protested.  Indeed,  she  was  biting  her  tongue  for 
having  brought  on  the  interview.  Now  that  sh( 
had  told  the  facts  she  shrank  from  further  dii 

268 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

cusoion.    Yet  it  was  patent  that  Loretta  had  every 
intention  of  discussing  the  episode  with  her. 

"There's  no  doubt  about  the  truth  of  the  mat 
ter,  unfortunately,"  she  said,  by  way  of  answer 
to  the  original  question. 

Loretta's  large  eyes  began  to  rove.  Then  they 
suddenly  fixed  Constance  with  the  gleam  of  a 
transporting  idea. 

"I'm  going  to  see  her,  right  off — to-morrow,  I 
mean,"  she  added,  noting  the  swift,  barometric 
sign  of  disapproval  which  her  words  evoked, 
though  it  was  no  more  than  a  contraction  of  the 
eyelids.  But,  suspicious  as  she  was,  she  assumed 
that  the  only  criticism  had  been  that  she  was  going 
forthwith. 

From  the  moment  Gordon  Perry  had  spoken, 
Constance  had  been  yearning  to  hasten  to  Mrs. 
Wilson's  side  and  offer  the  sympathy  which  she 
felt.  This  had  been  her  first  impulse  too,  but  a 
moment's  reflection  had  proved  to  her  that  to  do 
so  was  out  of  the  question;  that  it  would  be  an 
intrusion — a  violation  of  that  subtle  code  of  nicety 
which  governed  her  benefactress's  life.  Mrs.  Wil 
son  was  the  last  woman  to  betray  to  the  every-day 
world  that  she  was  sorely  wounded.  Was  not  en 
durance  of  suffering  without  plaint  and  with  an 
unruffled  countenance  one  of  the  tenets  of  her 
friend's  aesthetic  creed?  So  what  right  had  a  per 
son  like  herself  to  invade  her  privacy?  No,  she 
must  remain  dumb  until  Mrs.  Wilson  gave  her  the 
opportunity  to  speak  or  publicity  offered  an  excuse 
for  flowers  or  some  token  of  affection.  Thus  she 
had  reasoned,  and  hence  her  involuntary  challenge 
to  Loretta's  confident  announcement. 

269 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"She'll  expect  me  to  be  sorry  for  her,  and  I  am," 
pursued  Loretta,  complacent  over  her  project. 
"I'll  ask  her  all  about  it.  Won't  it  make  a  stir  in 
the  newspapers !  There'll  be  a  new  picture  of  her, 
sure."  Thus  reminded,  she  opened  a  table  drawer 
and  produced  a  large  scrap-book,  which  she  ex 
hibited  to  Constance  with  an  air  of  satisfaction. 
It  was  made  up  of  newspaper  illustrations  and 
clippings  relative  to  the  object  of  adoration — pict 
ures  of  Mrs.  Wilson  in  a  variety  of  poses,  of  her 
house,  of  her  equipages,  and  of  everything  which 
the  reportorial  artist  had  been  able  to  reproduce; 
also  scores  of  allusions  to  her  in  print  culled  from 
the  social  columns.  It  was  a  current,  but  a  thor 
ough  collection,  for  Loretta  had  purchased  back 
issues  in  order  to  possess  the  newspaper  features 
of  the  wedding  ceremonies.  It  was  to  these  she 
now  turned,  staying  her  hand  at  a  page  where  the 
bride  and  her  mother  looked  forth,  ranged  side 
by  side  in  festal  attire.  Loretta  surveyed  them 
contemplatively.  "I  never  laid  eyes  on  the 
daughter.  They're  not  much  alike,  are  they? 
Perhaps  she'll  be  at  home  when  I  go.  I'd  give 
anything  to  see  her." 

The  scrap-book  was  not  new  to  Constance,  but 
it  had  been  considerably  amplified  since  she  had 
seen  it  last.  She  had  never  been  able  to  under 
stand  why  Loretta  had  undertaken  or  prized  it. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  a  symptom  of  hero-worship 
in  line  with  collections  of  the  photographs  of 
adored  actors  by  matinee  girls,  and  was  not  to  be 
despised  too  heartily  if  she  wished  to  remain  sym 
pathetic.  But  just  now  Constance's  mind  was 
otherwise  busy.  She,  too,  adored  Mrs.  Wilson, 

270 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

and  she  painfully  depicted  to  herself  the  annoy 
ance  which  this  visit  with  its  threatened  frankness 
would  cause  her  divinity. 

"Don't  you  think,  Loretta,  that  it  would  be 
better  to  wait  a  little  before  you  call?"  she  said, 
in  gentle  appeal. 

"Better?     Why  better?" 

"More  appropriate.  Mrs.  Wilson  will  not  feel 
like  discussing  the  matter  just  yet.  If  her  daughter 
is  with  her,  so  much  the  more  reason.  She  must 
be  very  unhappy,  and,  if  either  of  us  were  to  visit 
her  now  to  offer  sympathy,  I'm  sure  she  would  re 
gard  it  as  an  intrusion." 

Loretta  bridled.  "If  I  were  unhappy,  she'd 
come  to  see  me.  If  my  baby  were  to  die,  wouldn't 
she  come  gliding  down  here  to  make  me  feel  re 
signed?  Two  can  play  at  that  game.  She's  been 
nice  to  me ;  why  shouldn't  I  let  her  know  that  I'm 
sorry  for  her?  Besides,"  she  added,  with  a  shrug 
of  her  shoulders  and  a  bold  look,  "I'd  like  to  see 
how  she'd  behave — how  she'd  take  it.  I  want  to 
see  the  house  again,  too." 

Appalled  as  Constance  was,  she  said  to  herself 
that  she  must  not  let  the  shock  of  this  lack  of  taste 
palsy  her  own  effectiveness.  To  upbraid  Loretta 
would  only  confirm  her  in  her  intention. 

"Let  us  hope  that  there  will  be  no  publicity;  that 
the  matter  will  be  kept  very  quiet.  If  Mrs.  Wil 
son  is  desirous  of  concealing  it,  surely  she  would 
not  be  pleased  to  know  that  we  had  heard  of  it. 
I  told  you  because  I  know  how  fond  you  are  of 
her,  and  that  her  secret  would  be  safe  in  your 
hands." 

"Publicity?     Of  course  there'll  be  publicity." 

271 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

The  suggestion  of  concealment  was  obviously  dis 
tasteful  to  her.  "Why,  I  read  it  to  you  in  the 
newspaper.  The  reporters  are  certain  to  get  wind 
of  it  in  a  few  days,  see  if  they  don't.  And  when 
they  do,  look  out  for  head-lines  and  half-page 
illustrations.  The  public  have  a  right  to  know 
what's  going  on,  haven't  they?"  she  asked  in 
the  assertive  tone  of  one  vindicating  a  vested  privi 
lege. 

"Not  things  of  this  kind — private  concerns, 
surely."  Constance  sighed,  realizing  that  it  was 
only  too  probable  that  the  newspapers,  alert  as 
bloodhounds  for  the  trail  of  a  new  social  scandal, 
would  come  upon  this  shortly  and  blazon  it  to  the 
world. 

"Private  concerns!  Suppose  a  multi-million 
aire's  daughter  tires  of  her  husband  and  runs  away 
to  South  Dakota  to  get  a  divorce  as  quick  as  the 
law  allows,  do  you  call  that  a  private  concern?  I 
guess  not,  Constance.  The  public — meaning  such 
as  you  and  me — naturally  take  an  interest,  and 
object  to  its  being  hushed  up.  The  multi-million 
aires  have  the  money;  we  have  the  newspapers. 
We  don't  get  any  too  much  that's  interesting  in 
our  lives." 

"We  don't  know  any  of  the  facts;  we  mustn't 
prejudge  Mrs.  Waldo  until  we  hear  what  they 
are,"  said  Constance,  ignoring  the  philosophy  of 
this  tirade  in  her  dismay  at  the  assumption. 

"That's  why  I'm  going  to  see  her.  I  want  to 
find  out  the  facts,"  said  Loretta,  triumphantly.  "I 
was  only  supposing.  Like  as  not  her  daughter 
has  been  ill-treated,  and  is  running  away  because 
she  has  to.  If  so,  there's  not  much  to  worry  about. 

272 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

She'll  get  her  divorce,  and  be  able  to  marry  again 
as  soon  as  she  has  the  chance." 

"But  even  so,  Loretta,  her  mother  must  neces 
sarily  regard  it  as  a  family  misfortune,  which  she 
would  not  like  to  talk  about.  As  to  marrying 
again,  that  would  only  make  the  matter  worse  for 
Mrs.  Wilson." 

"Worse?    Why  worse?" 

"It  would  distress  her,  I'm  certain.  It  would 
be  contrary  to  her  ideas  of  the  eternal  fitness  of 
things." 

Constance  recognized  her  own  sententiousness, 
which  was  due  to  the  perception  that  she  had  al 
lowed  herself  to  speak  by  the  card  without  suffi 
cient  authority.  She  had  never  discussed  the  sub 
ject  or  anything  analogous  to  it  with  Mrs.  Wilson, 
and  to  put  arguments  in  her  mouth  would  be  surely 
a  liberty.  Yet  her  heart  told  her  that  the  con 
clusion  which  she  had  uttered,  both  in  its  substance 
and  phraseology,  stated  correctly  Mrs.  Wilson's 
position.  What  suddenly  interested  her  was  the 
wonder  whether  it  expressed  her  own  convictions.. 

Loretta  lost  no  time  in  bringing  this  to  an  issue.. 
"Supposing  Mrs.  Waldo  has  been  miserable  and! 
without  fault,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  she'd  object 
to  her  daughter  marrying  the  right  man  if  he  came 
along?  Why,  wouldn't  you  be  glad,  after  allT 
you've  been  through,  if  the  right  person  came 
along — some  decent  man  with  a  little  money  who 
could  look  after  your  children?" 

"I?"  To  the  ears  of  Constance  the  sound  of 
her  own  voice  resembled  a  wail.  Why  should 
Loretta  be  so  unfeeling  as  to  make  her  personal 
experiences  the  test  of  such  a  text? 

273 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Yes,  you." 

Constance  gathered  her  forces  for  a  display  of 
proper  dignity.  She  wished  to  be  kind  still,  but 
conclusive. 

"Mine  is  not  a  case  at  all  in  point.  I  am  not 
divorced  from  my  husband." 

Loretta  plainly  regarded  this  argument  as 
flimsy,  for  she  snapped  her  fingers.  "Pooh!"  she 
said.  "You  could  get  a  divorce  any  day  you  like." 
She  stared  at  Constance  a  moment,  then  rose  from 
her  chair,  planted  her  palms  on  the  table  and  bent 
forward  by  way  of  emphasis  with  an  air  both  de 
termined  and  a  little  diabolical. 

"Supposing  your — your  employer,  Gordon 
Perry,  Esq.,  counsellor-at-law,  was  to  make  you  an 
offer  of  his  hand  and  heart  to-morrow,  do  you 
mean  to  tell  me,  Constance  Stuart,  that  you 
wouldn't  snap  him  up  in  a  jiffy?" 

"It  isn't  a  supposable  case,"  replied  poor  Con 
stance.  One  can  slam  a  door  in  an  intruder's  face; 
there  is  no  such  buffer  for  impertinent  speeches. 

"But  supposing  costs  nothing.  Of  course  it's 
supposable,  why  not?  You're  the  sort  of  woman 
who's  twice  as  good  looking  now  that  you've  filled 
out  as  you  were  at  nineteen.  You  know  well 
enough  you're  growing  handsomer  and  more  fetch 
ing  every  day.  Only  a  blind  man  couldn't  see 
that." 

"That  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it  even 
if  it  were  true." 

"You  may  bet  a  man  like  that  wouldn't  marry 
you  if  you  were  plain.  But  just  supposing?  I  do 
believe  you're  getting  red  again." 

The  victim,  conscious  of  the  fact,  sought  relief 
274 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 


in  merriment.  She  jumped  at  the  impulse  to  treat 
this  indelicate  effrontery  jocosely  as  the  only  possi 
ble  attitude.  "It's  because  you're  so  absurd, 
Loretta.  But  since  you  seem  to  wish  an  answer 
to  your  ridiculous  question " 

The  sharp  note  of  the  electric  bell  broke  in  upon 
the  slight  pause  which  she  made  to  weigh  her 
words. 

"Someone  for  me!"  cried  Loretta,  and  she  ran 
to  the  tube.  But  she  looked  over  her  shoulder  to 
say  "Continued  in  our  next!  The  offer  is  good 
for  a  week." 

Constance  felt  the  inclination  to  throw  the  scrap- 
book  at  her  head.  The  next  moment  she  was 
vexed  with  herself  for  allowing  her  equanimity 
to  be  disturbed,  and  began  to  rehabilitate  the  in 
terrupted  sentence.  What  had  she  been  going  to 
say?  It  dawned  upon  her  that,  curiously  enough, 
she  had  not  formulated  the  conclusion.  Mean 
time  Loretta  was  going  through  the  functions  of 
whistling  down  the  tube  and  receiving  the  message. 
The  surprising  import  of  her  next  words  roused 
Constance  from  a  brown  study. 

"Talk  of  the  devil!  It's  a  messenger  from  Mr. 
Perry's.  Somebody's  ill  and  I'm  wanted.  The 
boy's  coming  up." 

Somebody  ill!  It  must  be  Mrs.  Perry.  The 
few  moments  of  suspense  which  elapsed  before  the 
district  messenger-boy  arrived  seemed  interminable 
to  Constance.  Loretta  had  opened  the  door  and 
the  tramp  of  his  ascent  sounded  leisurely.  When 
he  appeared  he  thrust  his  hand  into  his  breast 
pocket  and  produced  a  letter. 

"It's  for  Mrs.  Stuart,"  he  said,  guardedly. 
275 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"I'm  Mrs.  Stuart,"  said  Constance. 

"I  was  told  to  ring  at  your  bell  first,  and  if  you 
was  asleep  or  didn't  answer  the  tube  to  try  the 
other  lady." 

Constance  read  the  brief  contents  of  the  note 
with  perturbation.  It  was  from  Mr.  Perry,  in 
forming  her  that  on  his  return  home  he  had  found 
his  mother  stricken  with  paralysis,  that  the  doctor 
was  in  attendance,  and  that  a  trained  nurse  was 
necessary.  He  had  thought  of  Loretta;  would 
Constance  send  her  if  disengaged? 

"Oh,  Loretta,  dear  Mrs.  Perry  is  seriously  ill — 
a  stroke  of  paralysis.  Mr.  Perry  asks  you  to  come 
to  her  at  once." 

"I'll  be  ready  to  start  in  a  few  minutes,"  an 
swered  Loretta,  briskly. 

"We  will  both  go,"  added  Constance,  as  though 
to  herself.  "There  may  be  something  I  can  do." 
She  turned  to  the  messenger:  "Return  as  quickly 
as  you  can,  and  tell  the  gentleman  that  we — wait 
a  moment."  She  tore  the  sheet  of  note-paper  apart 
and  seating  herself  at  the  table  wrote  hastily  on 
the  blank  half  in  pencil:  "Loretta  will  come  at 
once,  and  I  shall  accompany  her.  My  heart 
grieves  for  you,  my  dear  friend."  She  folded  it 
and  bent  down  one  corner.  "Give  him  this,"  she 
said,  "and  please  make  haste." 

At  this  time  in  Benham  the  doctrine  that  sewage 
must  be  diverted  from  the  sources  of  water  supply 
used  for  drinking  purposes  was  firmly  established, 
and  the  doctrine  that  not  every  woman  able  to  read 
and  write  is  qualified  to  teach  school  was  being 
gradually,  if  grudgingly,  admitted  to  be  not  alto 
gether  un-American.  So  swift  had  been  the  change 

276 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

of  attitude  toward  special  knowledge  that  there 
had  even  been  a  revolution  in  regard  to  the  theory 
advocated  by  the  original  board  of  trustees  of  the 
Silas  S.  Parsons  Free  Hospital  that  every  woman 
is  a  born  nurse,  and  is  competent,  after  a  fort 
night's  training  at  the  utmost,  to  take  charge  of 
the  sickest  patients.  Those  familiar  with  affairs 
in  Benham  will  recall  that  the  original  ruling  spirit 
of  that  institution  was  Mrs.  Selma  Lyons,  wife 
of  United  States  Senator  Lyons.  She  disapproved 
of  special  training  and  was  a  strong  champion  of 
the  principle  that  an  American  woman  with  aspi 
rations  is  more  likely  to  be  fettered  than  helped 
by  conventional  standards,  and  that  individuality 
should  be  given  free  play  in  order  to  attain  brilliant 
results.  Yet  though  this  principle  was  reverenced 
at  first  in  the  employment  of  nurses  for  the  hos 
pital,  progress,  that  stern  derider  even  of  the 
American  woman,  gradually  set  it  at  naught  dur 
ing  the  period  when  Mrs.  Lyons  was  resident  in 
Washington  and  unable  to  give  that  close  personal 
attention  to  the  affairs  of  the  institution  which  she 
desired.  It  so  happened  that  after  her  husband's 
defeat  at  the  end  of  his  first  term  through  the  hos 
tility  of  Horace  Elton,  one  of  the  financial  mag 
nates  of  that  section  of  the  country,  who  harbored 
a  grudge  against  him  for  alleged  duplicity  when 
Governor,  the  President  of  the  United  States 
threw  a  sop  to  the  defeated  candidate  in  the  form 
of  the  Spanish  mission.  Selma,  who  was  still  en 
gaged  in  the  effort  to  chastise  her  enemies  and  to 
reestablish  what  she  regarded  as  true  American 
social  principles,  was  sorry  to  leave  Washington, 
but  she  found  some  consolation  in  the  thought  of 

277 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

introducing  American  ethical  standards  at  a  for 
eign  court,  especially  of  dealing  a  death-blow  to 
bull-fights  by  her  personal  influence.  She  was 
obliged,  however,  to  relax  considerably  her  vigi 
lance  in  regard  to  the  hospital;  even  to  consent  to 
an  enlargement  of  the  board  of  trustees.  This 
in  its  new  form  presently  adopted  what  the  mem 
bers  regarded  as  modern  methods.  Mrs.  Wilson 
had  been  one  of  the  recent  additions  to  the  body. 
Yet,  under  her  regimen,  though  every  applicant 
for  a  nurse's  diploma  was  obliged  to  serve  a  rigor 
ous  apprenticeship  of  two  years  at  the  hospital,  the 
idea  of  scrutinizing  the  antecedents  and  previous 
education  of  the  young  women  offering  themselves 
was  still  novel.  Selma  would  have  regarded  an 
inquiry  of  this  kind  as  aristocratic  and  hostile  to 
the  free  development  of  the  individual.  Now — 
but  a  few  years  later — such  a  system  of  scrutiny 
is  in  vogue  in  Benham;  but  at  the  date  of  Loretta 
Davis's  admittance  to  the  Silas  S.  Parsons  Free 
Hospital,  though  it  doubtless  occurred  to  Mrs. 
Wilson  that  her  candidate  was  not  ideal,  she  had 
not  demurred.  On  the  contrary,  she  had  wel 
comed  the  opportunity  of  giving  the  girl  a  chance 
to  redeem  herself  in  this  field  of  usefulness. 

Similarly,  though  Constance  might  not  have 
picked  out  her  neighbor  for  this  particular  service, 
she  felt  only  thankfulness  that  Loretta  was  disen 
gaged,  and  that  they  were  able  to  betake  them 
selves  at  once  to  Mrs.  Perry's  bedside.  The  old 
dame  employed  to  look  after  the  baby  in  Loretta's 
absence  was  still  available.  Constance  waked  her, 
and  requested  her  to  keep  an  eye  on  her  own  chil 
dren  in  case  she  were  away  all  night.  After  their 

278 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

arrival  at  their  destination,  however,  it  was  soon 
clear  to  Constance  that  there  was  nothing  she  could 
do.  Mrs.  Perry  had  not  regained  consciousness, 
and  the  physician  in  attendance  was  non-committal 
as  to  the  outcome.  So  Gordon  informed  them 
briefly,  and  Constance  was  left  in  the  library  to 
her  own  reflections  while  he  showed  Loretta  to 
her  post.  She  was  not  sorry  that  she  had  come; 
but  much  as  she  wished  to  remain,  plainly  she 
would  be  in  the  way.  Loretta  was  trained,  and 
was  the  proper  person  to  be  in  the  sick-room.  Yet 
she  would  not  go  until  Mr.  Perry  returned.  He 
might  have  instructions  for  the  morrow  concerning 
the  changes  in  his  plans  consequent  upon  his; 
mother's  illness.  Besides,  she  wished  to  express 
more  specifically  her  desire  to  be  of  any  possible 
service. 

Gordon  returned  before  long.  He  put  out  his 
hand  as  though  they  had  not  met  already.  "I 
thank  you  heartily  for  your  message  of  sympathy/' 
he  said. 

"There  is  no  change?" 

"None.     It  is  the  beginning  of  the  end." 

"Yet " 

"Oh,  yes,  she  may  recover,  thanks  to  the  tire 
less  methods  of  modern  science;  but  what  would 
the  only  possible  recovery  mean  to  a  woman  like 
her?  Merely  durance  vile.  No — one's  natural 
impulse,  of  course,  is  to  hold  on  to  one  we  love — 
to  delay  the  parting  at  any  price.  The  doctors 
must  have  their  way.  But  when  I  allow  myself 
to  think,  I  know  it  would  be  best  for  her  not  to 
wake  again.  She  would  prefer  it.  You  know 
that." 

279 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Yes,  she  would  prefer  it,"  Constance  mur 
mured.  "I  must  not  keep  you  from  her,"  she 
added. 

"Please  stay  a  little.  I  can  do  nothing.  It  hurts 
me  to  see  her  so  unlike  herself,  though  the  doctor 
says  she  is  not  suffering."  He  glanced  at  the  clock 
apprehensively.  "It  is  getting  late,  I  know;  but 
you  must  not  go  quite  yet.  I  will  telephone  for  a 
carriage  presently.  I  must  give  you  directions  as 
to  what  to  do  at  the  office  to-morrow  in  case  I 
should  not  be  there."  Then,  as  though  he  divined 
what  was  in  her  thoughts,  he  said,  "I  was  glad 
when  I  knew  you  were  coming.  I  said  to  myself, 
'if  my  mother  should  recover  consciousness,  the 
sight  of  Constance  at  her  bedside  would  do  her 
more  good  than  any  medicine.'  ' 

He  had  never  before  employed  her  Christian 
name  in  her  presence.  The  use  of  it  now  seemed 
to  her  to  put  a  seal  upon  the  bond  of  their  friend 
ship.  He  was  become,  indeed,  a  wise  older  brother 
whom  it  delighted  her  to  serve. 

"But  you  will  come  to-morrow?"  he  said. 

"If  I  may.  I  should  like  to  be  near  her.  I 
hate  to  feel  helpless  where  she  is  concerned." 

"We  are  both  helpless.  What  a  mother  she  has 
been  to  me !  I  owe  everything  to  her.  Truth  has 
been  her  divinity,  truth — truth — and  she  has  had 
the  courage  to  live  up  to  what  she  believed."  He 
paused.  Evidently  his  spirit  quailed  before  the 
impending  future.  "And  now  she  is  slipping  away 
from  me.  The  common  destiny.  But  she  is  my 
mother.  I  wonder  where  she  is  going — what  is  to 
become  of  all  that  energy  and  clear-headedness. 
Modern  science  tells  us  that  force  never  perishes. 

280 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

[t  is  as  difficult  to  imagine  my  mother's  individual- 
ty  at  an  end  as  it  is  to  convince  one's  self  in  the 
Dresence  of  death  that  the  grave  is  not  master." 
He  sighed  and  turned  to  hide  a  tear. 

"  I  know  not  where  His  islands  lift 

Their  fronded  palms  in  air, 
I  only  know  I  cannot  drift 
Beyond  His  love  and  care." 

The  lines  rose  to  Constance's  lips  and  she  re 
peated  them.  They  were  not  symbolic  of  her 
church ;  rather  they  were  a  text  from  the  universal 
hope  of  mankind.  She  felt  instinctively  that  any 
more  orthodox  definition  would  have  jarred  upon 
fhim. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  softly.  "It  is  so  easy 
in  this  age  of  conscientious  investigation  to  reject 
everything  which  will  not  bear  the  test  of  human 
reason.  Death  is  no  greater  a  mystery  than  birth. 
We  know  not  whence  we  came,  nor  whither  we  go. 
?But  when  the  world  ceases  to  believe  that  there  is 
some  answer  to  it  all  worthy  of  our  aspirations,  it 
;will  be  time  for  this  planet  to  become  a  frozen 
pole  again.  You  women  are  apt  to  bear  that  in 
mind  more  faithfully  than  we,"  he  added,  lifting 
his  eyes  to  hers.  "Come,"  he  said,  "we  must  not 
forget  to-morrow;  you  have  work  to  do.  I  must 
•not  be  selfish." 

A  few  minutes  later  he  put  her  in  a  carriage. 

In  the  morning  Constance,  imbued  with  his  speech, 

ihalf  hoped  that  she  might  hear  that  Mrs.  Perry 

was   dead.      But  Gordon   appeared  at  the   office 

about  ten  o'clock,  announcing  that  the  night  had 

281 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

brought  a  change  for  the  better.  His  mother  had 
smiled  at  him  recognizingly,  and  faintly  pressed 
his  hand.  Though  she  was  unable  to  speak,  the 
doctor  had  encouraged  him  to  believe  that  she 
would  do  so.  Constance  perceived  that  he  was  in 
better  spirits,  showing  that,  despite  his  words,  he 
was  rejoicing  that  the  parting  had  been  delayed. 

The  improvement  in  Mrs.  Perry's  condition 
continued  for  nearly  three  weeks.  One  side  of  her 
body  was  completely  paralyzed,  but  she  regained 
presently  the  power  to  utter  a  few  occasional 
words,  though  her  enunciation  was  difficult  to  un 
derstand.  At  the  end  of  the  fourth  day  from  her 
seizure  she  was  permitted  to  see  Constance  for  a 
few  minutes.  Soon  after  daily  visits  increasing 
gradually  in  length  were  sanctioned,  and  Con 
stance,  after  her  duties  at  the  office  were  over, 
was  enabled  to  spend  an  hour  or  more  at  the  bed 
side  of  her  friend  before  returning  to  her  own 
home.  This  was  an  agreeable  arrangement  to 
Loretta,  for  it  gave  that  young  woman  a  breath 
ing  spell — the  opportunity  to  take  the  fresh  air 
or  to  do  whatever  she  pleased.  Mrs.  Perry  evi 
dently  delighted  in  Constance's  attendance.  She 
listened  to  reading  with  satisfaction  for  a  time, 
but  later  it  seemed  to  suit  her  better  to  lie  quietly, 
her  unmaimed  hand  resting  in  or  near  one  of  Con 
stance's,  while  the  latter  now  and  then  broke  the 
twilight  silence  by  recounting  the  news  of  the  day. 
"I  like  the  sound  of  your  voice,  my  dear,"  she  said 
to  Constance.  "It  is  refreshing  and  musical  as  a 
brook."  Occasionally  Gordon  joined  them,  but 
he  would  never  permit  Constance  to  relinquish  her 
seat  beside  the  bed  in  his  favor. 

282 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"My  turn  comes  later,"  he  said.  "I  tuck  my 
liother  up  for  the  night." 

Mrs.  Perry  seemed  to  enjoy  especially  the  days 

7hen  they  were  there  together.     She  would  turn 

ler  eyes  from  one  to  the  other  as  though  she  de- 

ighted  in  them  equally.     But  only  once  did  she 

nake  any  reference  to  what  may  have  been  in  her 

noughts  concerning  their  joint  presence.     It  was 

lin  the  third  week  of  her  illness,  and  what  she  said 

[vas  spoken  low  to   Constance,   though  evidently 

>ntendecl  to  be  audible  to  them  both. 

"You  must  take  good  care  of  him,  dear,  when 
'.  am  gone." 

It  was  one  of  her  best  days  as  regards  articula- 
|ion,  so  there  was  no  room  for  misunderstanding. 
The  words  were  harmless  enough  and  Constance 
:ook  them  in  the  only  sense  in  which  they  were 
ipplicable. 

"I  shall  stay  with  him  as  long  as  he  will  keep 
Tie,  you  may  rely  on  that,  Mrs.  Perry,"  she  re- 
jponded,  brightly. 

A  pleasant  smile  came  over  the  old  lady's  face 
and  she  looked  in  the  direction  of  her  son.  Her 
mouth  twitched.  "Do  you  hear  what  she  says, 
Gordon?"  There  was  a  humorous  twinkle  in  her 
voice,  which  doubtless  was  not  lost  on  him.  His 
back  was  to  the  light,  so  that  he  had  the  advantage 
of  shadow  to  cover  his  mental  processes. 

"I  regard  it  as  impossible  that  Constance  and 
I  should  ever  drift  apart,"  he  said. 

His  sphinx-like  reply  seemed  to  be  reassuring 
to  the  invalid.  She  lay  like  one  serenely  satisfied, 
and  did  not  pursue  the  subject  further.  As  for 
Constance,  she  noticed  the  use  by  Mr.  Perry  of 

283 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

her  Christian  name  again,  but  it  seemed  to  her  only 
fitting  and  friendly.  She  did  not  need  his  assurance 
to  feel  that  they  were  not  likely  to  drift  apart,  but 
it  was  delightful  to  hear  it  from  his  lips. 

When  Mrs.  Perry's  seeming  convalescence  had 
reached  a  stage  at  which  the  doctor  was  on  the 
point  of  sending  her  out  to  drive,  a  second  attack 
of  her  malady  occurred  and  brought  the  end.  She 
became  unconscious  at  once,  and  passed  away 
within  a  few  hours.  On  the  afternoon  after  the 
funeral  Constance  returned  to  the  house  with 
Loretta  in  order  that  the  latter  might  collect  and 
bring  away  her  belongings.  Gordon  was  closeted 
in  his  library  alone  with  his  sorrow,  and  the  two 
women  moving  noiselessly  through  the  silent  house 
made  but  a  brief  stay.  While  they  were  on  their 
way  to  Lincoln  Chambers  a  newsboy  entered  the 
street-car  crying  the  evening  papers.  Loretta  hav 
ing  bought  one  made  an  ejaculation.  Absorbed  in 
what  she  had  discovered,  she  paid  no  heed  at  first 
to  Constance's  glance  of  interrogation,  but  read 
with  an  avidity  which  seemed  breathless.  Then 
she  thrust  the  sheet  under  her  companion's  eyes, 
and  pointing  to  a  column  bristling  with  large  head 
lines,  exclaimed : 

"Here  it  is  at  last;  a  full  account  of  the  divorce 
proceedings  with  their  pictures,  and  a  picture  of 
her.  It's  a  worse  affair  than  anyone  imagined. 
It  says  Paul  Howard  and  his  wife  are  mixed  up 
in  it,  and  there's  something  about  a  pistol  going 
off  at  Newport.  I  haven't  read  it  all  yet.  But 
look— look!" 

Loretta's  demeanor  suggested  not  merely  ex 
citement,  but  a  sort  of  saturnine  glee,  so  that  Con- 

284 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

tance  turned  from  the  printed  page  toward  her  as 
i  hough  seeking  to  fathom  its  cause,  then  back  to 
he  newspaper,   the  capitals  of  which  told  their 
ensational  story  with  flaring  offensiveness. 

"I  won't  read  it  now,  Loretta.  I'll  wait  until 
ye  get  home.  What  a  cruel  shame  it  is  that  the 
)ress  has  got  hold  of  it." 

Loretta  gave  a  questioning  jerk  to  her  shoul- 
lers.      "I   don't  know  about  that.      I  knew  she 
!  vouldn't  be  able  to  hush  it  up.     How  could  she 
expect  to?     Besides — "     She  did  not  finish  her 
jentence.     Instead,  she  wagged  her  head,  as  one 
1-n  possession  of  a  secret  and  grinned  knowingly. 
Til  tell  you  something,  some  day.     But  not  now 
— not  now."     Then  she  reassumed  control  of  the 
hiewspaper,   saying,   "Well,   if  you   don't  care  to 
read  it,  I  do.     There  are  three  columns."     She 
uttered  the  last  words  as  though  she  were  announc 
ing  treasure-trove. 

But  the  ellipsis  had  left  no  doubt  as  to  her  atti 
tude,  which  led  Constance  to  remark  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment,  "Neither  of  us  would  like  to  have 
our  misfortunes  paraded  before  the  world.  I 
•know  what  it  means;  how  it  cuts  and  stings." 

Loretta  looked  up   admiringly.      "When  your 
husband  ran  away?" 
"Yes." 

"And  your  picture  appeared?" 
"No,  not  that,  thank  heavens!" 
Loretta  laughed  indulgently.      "You're   queer, 
Constance.      You're    so    scared    of    publicity.      I 
shouldn't  mind  a  bit  having  my  picture  in  the  pa 
pers.    What's  more,  I  don't  believe  she  does.  This 
divorce    had    to    come    out,    sooner    or    later.     I 

285 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

shouldn't  wonder  in  the  least,"  she  added,  boldly, 
"if  she  lets  the  reporters  know  when  she  has  a  new 
photograph  taken.  By  the  way,  I  went  to  see  her." 

Constance  knew  at  once  what  she  meant,  and 
the  dismay  and  curiosity  inspired  by  the  announce 
ment  rose  paramount  to  her  other  feelings  of  pro 
test. 

"When?" 

"It  surprises  you,  doesn't  it?  I  went  on  two 
of  those  afternoons  when  you  sat  with  Mrs.  Perry. 
And  I  saw  her,  too.  The  first  time  the  butler  said 
she  was  engaged.  He  tried  to  shunt  me  off  the 
same  way  again,  but  I  was  too  smart  for  him. 
'Tell  her  Loretta  Davis  is  very  anxious  to  talk 
with  her  on  business,'  I  said,  and  the  message 
came  back  that  she'd  be  down  presently.  Between 
my  baby  and  my  nurse's  work  it  wasn't  hard  to 
find  the  business,  and  then  I  told  her  plump  I  was 
sorry  to  hear  about  her  daughter.  At  that  she  col 
ored  up — you  ought  to  have  seen  her,  and  looked 
as  though  she  had  swallowed  a  steel  rod.  Said 
she,  'I  appreciate  your  desire  to  be  sympathetic, 
Loretta,  but  that  is  a  subject  I  cannot  discuss  with 
anyone,  please.*  '  Loretta  spoke  mincingly,  evi 
dently  aiming  to  reproduce  Mrs.  Wilson's  ex- 
quisiteness  of  manner  and  speech.  "Said  I,  'I 
thought  it  might  make  you  feel  better  to  talk  it 
over  with  someone.  It  would  me,  I  know.'  But 
it  wasn't  any  use.  She  wouldn't,  and  she  sort  of 
froze  me ;  and  pretty  soon  we  both  got  up,  I  to  go, 
and  she  to  have  me  go.  However,  now  it's  all  out, 
and  everyone  will  be  talking  about  it." 

"But  not  with  her.  I  warned  you  that  she 
wouldn't  like  it." 

286 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Yes,  you  warned  me.  And  I  don't  mind  say 
ing  I  think  she  needn't  have  been  so  stiff,  seeing  I 
told  her  everything  when  I  was  in  trouble.  Any 
how,  I  saw  the  house  again  and  her,  and  now 
there's  a  new  picture  of  her  in  the  paper,  and  the 
thing  is  going  to  make  a  big  sensation,  if  what's 
printed  here  is  true,  and  I  guess  it  is."  She  nod 
ded  her  head  with  a  repetition  of  her  air  of  mys 
tery.  "There  are  the  facts  you  said  we  ought  to 
wait  for." 

"But  you  seem  almost  glad,"  Constance  could 
not  refrain  from  remarking.  "You  stated  you 
went  to  see  Mrs.  Wilson  because  you  were  sorry 
for  her." 

"So  I  did;  so  I  am.  I'm  dreadfully  sorry  for 
her.  I'd  do  anything  to  help  her,  but  I  can't;  and 
she  won't  let  me  show  my  sympathy.  But  since 
the  thing  has  happened,  I'm  glad  it's  exciting." 

Constance  looked  puzzled.  "I  don't  think  I 
understand." 

"I  enjoy  sensations,  and  big  head-lines.  They 
tone  me  up.  You're  different,  I  guess."  A  sud 
den  thought  seemed  to  occur  to  her,  for  she  re 
garded  Constance  for  a  moment  as  a  doctor  might 
look  at  a  patient,  then  she  thrust  her  hand  into 
the  pocket  of  her  jacket  and  produced  a  small 
bottle  which  contained  white  tablets.  "When 
I  feel  low  in  my  mind — done  up — I  take  one 
of  these." 

"What  are  they?" 

"Something  a  friend  of  mine  at  the  hospital 
recommended.  They  do  the  work."  While  de 
livering  this  not  altogether  candid  response,  Lor- 
etta  unscrewed  the  stopper  and  emptying  a  tablet 

287 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

on  to   her  palm   swallowed  it,   then  offered  the 
bottle  to  her  companion.     "Have  one?" 

Constance  shook  her  head. 

"Well,  the  next  time  you  feel  fagged,  ask  me 
for  one."  An  instant  later  she  sprang  to  her  feet, 
exclaiming,  "Why,  here  we  are!  We  ought  to 
get  out." 

It  was  even  so.  The  interest  of  their  conversa 
tion  had  been  such  that  they  had  neglected  to  no 
tice  the  flight  of  time  or  to  observe  where  they 
were.  As  the  car  was  virtually  at  the  point  where 
they  wished  it  to  stop,  Loretta  hurried  toward  the 
door,  signalling  to  the  conductor  as  she  did  so; 
but  she  failed  to  catch  his  eye,  for  he  happened  to 
be  absorbed  by  an  organ-grinder  on  the  other  side 
of  the  car  from  that  on  which  they  were  to  get 
off.  The  car  was  moving  slowly,  and,  though  she 
had  her  hand-bag,  it  was  a  simple  matter  to  spring 
to  the  ground  without  further  ado.  She  did  so 
successfully,  landing  a  few  feet  beyond  the  cross 
ing.  Constance,  who  was  following  close  behind, 
heard  the  voice  of  the  conductor,  "Wait,  lady, 
until  the  car  stops,"  and  the  jingle  of  the  bell,  but 
she  disdained  to  heed  it.  She  jumped  lightly,  but , 
somehow  the  heel  of  her  boot  caught  on  the  edge 
of  the  platform  or  she  slipped.  At  all  events  her  • 
impetus  was  thwarted,  and  instead  of  landing  on, 
her  feet,  she  pitched  forward,  striking  her  fore 
head  on  the  pavement. 


288 


XVIII 

WHEN  Constance  came  to  herself  she  was  in 
her  own  bed.  It  appeared  that  she  had 
been  carried  insensible  into  a  drug  store,  and 
thence  to  Lincoln  Chambers,  which  were  close  at 
hand.  A  doctor  presently  restored  her  to  con 
sciousness,  but  he  gave  imperative  instructions  that 
she  was  to  be  kept  absolutely  quiet  or  he  would 
not  answer  for  the  consequences  of  the  nervous 
shock.  It  was  the  second  day  before  her  counte 
nance  expressed  recognition  of  Mrs.  Harrity,  the 
pensioner  who  looked  after  the  children,  and  who 
sat  sewing  at  her  bedside.  Even  then  her  senses 
shrank  from  every  effort,  and  having  learned  by 
a  question  or  two  that  she  had  fallen,  and  that  the 
children  were  well,  she  lapsed  into  a  comatose 
state.  When  she  emerged  from  this  she  was  very 
weak,  but  her  mind  was  clear.  She  could  not  bear 
the  light,  however.  Her  eyes  burned  with  a  sting 
ing  pain  whenever  they  encountered  it,  and  she 
was  forced  to  submit  to  the  physician's  orders  that 
she  remain  in  a  dark  room  for  a  week. 

Her  first  inquiry  after  her  mind  was  able  to 
focus  itself  was  whether  word  had  been  sent  to  the 
office.  She  was  told  that  Loretta  had  done  this 
by  telephone;  that  Mr.  Perry  had  called  prompt 
ly,  and  that  the  roses  on  the  table  were  from  him. 
Mrs.  Harrity  seemed  proud  of  the  visit  and  the 
gift. 

289 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"He  told  me  to  say  you  weren't  to  worry,  and 
to  take  all  the  time  you  need  to  get  well.  He's 
a  pleasant-spoken  gentleman,  Mrs.  Stuart,  and 
wanted  to  know  everything  the  doctor  had  said." 

Mrs.  Harrity  was  proud  also  of  the  fact  that 
Loretta  had  been  summoned  to  attend  a  new  pa 
tient.  She  was  proudest  of  all  of  a  piece  of  intel 
ligence,  or  rather  prophecy,  which  Loretta  had  let 
fall  the  day  after  the  accident,  which  she  hastened 
to  impart  to  Constance  the  first  moment  the  latter 
appeared  able  to  take  it  in. 

"She  says  as  how  you  ought  to  get  big  damages 
from  the  railroad." 

"But  I'm  not  much  hurt,  am  I?"  asked  Con 
stance. 

The  dame  perceived  that  she  had  not  lived  up 
to  the  doctor's  orders.  Yet  now  she  could  con 
scientiously  relieve  her  patient's  natural  solicitude. 

"Mercy,  no.  You've  broken  nothing.  You're 
only  shook  up.  And  it  hasn't  hurt  your  good  looks 
a  mite.  But,"  she  added,  still  conscientious,  "the 
doctor  says  it's  your  nerves,  and  nerves  are  most 
as  good  as  bones  before  a  jury,  especially  if  one 
has  a  smart  lawyer  handy  as  you  have." 

Constance  sat  up  in  bed.  Instead  of  being  a 
comfort,  as  was  intended,  the  broad  hint  distressed 
her. 

"I  don't  wish  any  damages.  It  was  my  own 
fault.  I  jumped  before  the  car  stopped.  It  was 
very  silly.  I  only  want  to  get  well." 

The  dread  of  a  tedious  convalescence  was  al 
ready  haunting  her  reviving  faculties.  Her 
absence  from  the  office  would  be  very  inconvenient 
to  Mr.  Perry,  and  confinement  at  home  for  more 

290 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

than  a  few  days  would  prove  a  disastrous  inroad 

*on  her  resources.     She  must  hasten  to  recover. 
Meantime  Mrs.  Harrity  was  looking  blank  at 

ithe  reception  accorded  to  what  she  had  supposed 
would  be  a  nerve  tonic  to  the  sufferer.  She  replied 
stanchly  : 

"She  says  different.     She's  ready  to  go  on  the 
stand  and  swear  against  the  company.     You're  all 

i  right,  darling.     Smell  them  flowers,  and  lie  down 

;like  a  good  girl.  The  doctor  says  you  must  keep 
still  and  not  talk."  So  saying,  she  pushed  a  little 
nearer  the  vase  of  roses,  one  of  which  Constance 

-had  reached  with  her  outstretched  hand  in  the 
dark.  Constance's  impulse  had  been  to  detach  it 

ifrom  its  fellows  so  as  to  enjoy  its  fragrance  at 
close  range.  But  the  larger  opportunity  afforded 

'her,  or  else  the  jogging  of  her  purpose,  changed 
her  mind.  She  bent  forward  and  burying  her  face 
in  the  cool  rose  leaves  inhaled  their  rich  perfume. 
"It  was  very  kind  of  him  to  send  them,"  she 
murmured,  as  though  in  monologue.  Then  appre 
ciating  for  the  first  time  her  weakness  she  sank 
back  upon  her  pillow.  She  said  to  herself  that  he 
Was  such  a  friend  that  he  would  make  the  best  of 
her  absence  for  a  week  and  by  the  end  of  that  time 

I  she  would  be  herself  again.     But  what  a  fool  she 

!  had  been  to  jump;  to  take  such  a  risk,  she  a  grown 
woman  with  children!  She  ought  to  have  known 

i  better;  she  was  getting  middle-aged,  and  she  must 
be  more  staid.  Still  it  was  some  consolation  to 

1  know  she  had  not  broken  her  nose. 

A  note  received  from  Mr.   Perry  twenty-four 
hours  later  and  read  to  her  by  her  little  daughter 

!  reassured  her  as  to  his  indulgence  in  respect  to 

291 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

her  absence.  All  her  interest  now  became  centred 
on  a  rapid  recovery,  and  she  made  sundry  attempts 
to  bring  the  doctor  to  book  as  to  the  date  when 
she  would  be  able  to  resume  work  again,  which  he 
smilingly  evaded.  She  was  conscious,  however,  of 
increasing  bodily  vigor,  which  was  comforting. 
The  inability  of  her  eyes  to  endure  the  light  was 
her  chief  discomfort,  a  condition  which  her  phy 
sician  appeared  to  her  to  ignore,  until  he  arrived 
one  morning  with  a  brother  practitioner,  who 
proved  to  be  an  oculist,  and  who  had  brought  with 
him  some  of  the  apparatus  of  his  specialty  for  the 
purpose  of  a  diagnosis.  Constance  could  not  bear 
the  sphinx-like  urbanities  which  followed  the  ex 
amination.  She  felt  possessed  by  a  desire  to  have 
the  exact  condition  of  affairs  revealed  to  her.  She 
lifted  her  head,  and  addressing  her  own  doctor, 
said: 

"I  should  like  to  know  the  truth,  please.  Do 
not  conceal  anything.  It  will  be  much  worse  for 
me  to  find  out  later  that  something  has  been  kept 
back." 

The  family  physician  looked  at  the  specialist  as 
much  as  to  say  that  he  proposed  to  throw  the  bur 
den  on  him,  but  he  answered,  "So  far  as  your  gen 
eral  physical  condition  is  concerned,  you  are  prac 
tically  well,  Mrs.  Stuart.  All  the  brain  symptoms 
have  disappeared,  and  there  are  no  lesions  of  any 
kind.  It  is  now  simply  a  question  of  nerves — and 
your  eyes.  Dr.  Dale  can  speak  more  authorita 
tively  about  the  latter." 

Dr.  Dale,  the  oculist,  a  man  in  the  prime  of 
life,  with  precise  methods  and  a  closely  cut  Van 
Dyke  beard,  hesitated  briefly,  as  though  he  were 

292 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

analyzing  his  patient,  then  said  with  courteous  in- 
cisiveness — "It  is  a  question  of  nerves,  as  Dr. 
Baldwin  has  explained.  The  nerves  affected  in 
your  case  are  those  of  the  eyes.  Since  you  have 
expressed  a  wish  to  know  the  exact  state  of  affairs, 
I  take  you  at  your  word,  Mrs.  Stuart.  I  agree 
with  you  that  it  is  more  satisfactory  to  know  the 
truth,  and  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  assure  you  that 
by  the  end  of  six  months,  if  you  give  your  eyes 
entire  rest,  their  weakness  will  be  cured,  and  you 
will  be  able  to  use  them  as  freely  as  before." 

He  had  rather  the  air  of  conferring  a  benefit 
than  of  pronouncing  a  sentence,  and  Constance  re 
ceived  his  statement  in  that  spirit. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said.  "I  will  be  as  careful 
as  I  can." 

"The  condition  of  your  cure,"  the  specialist  con 
tinued  with  polite  relentlessness,  "is  that  you 
abstain  from  using  them  altogether." 

Constance  experienced  a  thrill  of  concern. 
"Which  means?" 

"It  means,  Mrs.  Stuart,  that  you  must  not  sew, 
read,  write,  or  undertake  any  form  of  application 
where  the  eyes  are  a  factor." 

She  could  not  believe  her  ears.  "I  am  a  clerk 
in  a  law-office.  My  employment  is  stenography 
and  type-writing,"  she  said,  tentatively. 

He  nodded.  Evidently  he  had  been  informed. 
"It  will  be  impossible  for  you  to  continue  it." 

"But  I  must.  I  must  do  my  work.  My  chil 
dren  are  dependent  on  it."  Her  tone  suggested 
that  there  could  be  no  answer  to  such  a  plea. 

"You  cannot.  If  you  do,  you  will  become  blind. 
I  am  very  sorry  for  you." 

293 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

The  truth  was  out.  She  lay  dum  founded. 
"Blind?  Blind?"  she  echoed. 

"But  there  is  not  the  least  danger  of  your  be 
coming  blind  if  you  obey  my  instructions.  You 
will  be  entirely  cured,  as  I  have  said." 

There  was  a  painful  silence.  Her  sentence  was 
too  appalling  to  grasp.  There  must  be  some  es 
cape  from  it.  "Six  months?  Half  a  year?" 

"Knowing  your  necessities,  I  have  given  you 
the  shortest  period  that  I  dared  consistent  with  per 
fect  recovery.  You  will  have  to  wear  colored 
glasses  at  first,"  he  continued,  seeking  a  business 
like  basis,  "and  accustom  yourself  to  do  without 
them  by  degrees.  I  will  bring  them  to-morrow. " 

She  leaned  back  on  her  pillow  bewildered.  The 
trickling  of  a  tear  into  her  mouth  reminded  her 
that  she  could  not  afford  to  cry,  though  but  for 
the  presence  of  the  doctors  she  knew  that  she 
would  have  burst  into  sobs.  Her  plight  demanded 
thought,  not  sorrow.  But  what  could  she  do? 
What,  indeed  ?  Yet,  even  as  she  asked  herself  the 
dreadful  question,  she  began  to  nerve  herself  not 
only  against  breaking  down  at  the  moment,  but 
against  the  threat  of  the  future.  She  would  keep 
a  stiff  upper  lip  in  the  teeth  of  all  the  odds,  and 
be  able  to  manage  somehow.  As  thus  she  rea 
soned,  swallowing  the  salt  of  her  single  moment 
of  weakness,  she  heard  Dr.  Baldwin  saying : 

"You  have  had  a  very  fortunate  escape,  all 
things  considered.  It  might  have  been  much 
worse.  You  might  have  disfigured  yourself  per 
manently,  which  for  you,"  he  added  with  a  gal 
lant  bow,  "would  have  been  a  serious  matter,  in 
deed.  As  it  is,  you  will  be  able  to  do  even  thing 

294 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

as  formerly  in  another  week,  except  use  your  eyes. 
Your  friends  will  look  after  you,  Mrs.  Stuart,  and 
six  months  will  pass  much  more  quickly  than  you 
expect." 

"I  don't  suppose  they'll  let  me  starve,"  she 
found  herself  saying,  though  the  notion  of  a  re 
turn  to  alms  almost  strangled  her  effort  at  buoy 
ancy,  so  that  the  sprightliness  of  her  tone  com 
peted  with  the  water  in  her  eyes,  as  the  sun 
struggles  with  the  rain-pour  just  before  it  clears 
up.  But  she  remembered  that  the  room  was  dark, 
and  that  they  could  not  see  her  tears.  "Wasn't  I 
a  fool  to  jump  off  that  car?" 

"You  were  unlucky,  that's  all.  You  mustn't  be 
too  hard  on  yourself.  It  is  the  privilege  of  the 
young  to  jump,  and  you  will  jump  again."  It  was 
Dr.  Dale  who  spoke.  His  enunciation  imparted  a 
cleansing  value  to  his  note  of  sympathy,  just  as  it 
had  ruthlessly  epitomized  her  tragedy  a  few  min 
utes  before. 

"But  I  am  not  young;  that  is  the  folly  of  it," 
she  protested. 

The  oculist  smiled.  "Excuse  me  if  I  differ  with 
you,"  said  he.  "You  have  the  best  years  of  your 
life  before  you." 

They  left  her  under  the  spell  of  this  assertion, 
which  lingered  in  her  mind  on  account  of  its  ab 
surdity,  until  in  sheer  self-defence  she  said  to  her 
self  under  her  breath  that  she  was  only  thirty-one. 
The  best  years  of  her  life !  And  yet  he  knew  that 
she  was  to  be  deprived  during  half  of  one  of  them 
of  the  joy  of  seeing  and  the  source  of  her  liveli 
hood.  What  could  he  mean? 

In  taking  his  departure,  Dr.  Baldwin,  by  way 
295 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

of  showing  his  friendliness,  had  volunteered  to 
write  to  her  employer.  "I  know  Mr.  Perry,"  he 
said,  "and  I  will  explain  to  him  the  situation.  Per 
haps  he  will  be  able  to  keep  your  place  for  you." 

Constance  had  interposed  no  objection.  It 
would  obviate  the  necessity  of  an  elaborate  expla 
nation  on  her  part,  and  would,  moreover,  be  a 
guaranty  of  her  later  usefulness.  The  future 
would  take  care  of  itself;  it  was  the  present  which 
stared  her  in  the  face  and  demanded  an  immediate 
answer. 

One  solution  of  her  quandary  was  offered  to  her 
a  few  days  later.  Dr.  Baldwin  had  given  her  per 
mission  to  get  up  and  resume  her  ordinary  house 
hold  duties  as  soon  as  her  glasses  arrived,  which 
proved  to  be  the  next  morning,  as  the  oculist  had 
promised.  Consequently,  she  dressed  herself  and 
sat  with  her  children  in  the  parlor  that  afternoon, 
and  on  the  following  day  rose,  bent  on  facing  the 
new  problem  of  existence  with  a  clear  brain  and 
resigned  spirit.  If  Mr.  Perry  would  save  her  place 
for  her,  so  much  the  better.  But  obviously  there 
was  nothing  for  her  to  do  in  the  office  until  she 
was  cured.  She  must,  either  through  her  own 
energies  or  the  advice  of  others,  discover  some  em 
ployment  compatible  with  her  infirmity.  She 
might  have  to  accept  help  at  first,  for  the  money 
she  had  on  hand  would  be  needed  to  pay  the  bills 
of  the  two  physicians,  which  would  necessarily  be 
considerable;  but  with  the  aid  of  her  friends  she 
would  surely  be  able  to  find  some  handiwork  which 
would  yield  her  enough  to  keep  her  treasures  well 
fed  and  decently  clothed.  Humiliating  as  it 
would  be  to  have  recourse  to  others,  it  was  clearly 

296 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

her  duty  to  inform  her  friends  of  her  predicament, 
and  invite  their  counsel.  They  would  only  thank 
her,  she  knew,  and  she  certainly  was  fortunate  in 
having  three  persons,  to  whom  she  felt  at  liberty 
to  apply,  so  pleasantly  interested  in  her  welfare 
as  her  employer,  Mrs.  Wilson,  and  the  Reverend 
George  Prentiss.  Mr.  Perry  was  to  be  made 
aware  of  what  had  befallen  her,  without  further 
action  on  her  part ;  but  she  would  write  to  the  two 
others,  and  soon,  for  the  thought  was  harassing 
her  that  her  employer,  in  a  spirit  of  benevolence, 
might  try  to  invent  duties  for  her  at  the  office,  and 
give  her  some  sinecure  in  order  that  she  might  re 
tain  her  salary.  This  would  be  galling  to  her  self- 
respect,  and  was  not  to  be  entertained  for  a  mo 
ment.  As  the  possibility  of  it  grew  upon  her  she 
became  quite  agitated;  so  much  so  that  in  the  hope 
of  heading  off  any  such  attempt  by  him,  she  dic 
tated  to  her  daughter,  that  afternoon,  letters  to 
Mrs.  Wilson  and  the  clergyman,  informing  them 
briefly  what  had  occurred. 

Just  after  the  little  girl  had  returned  from  put 
ting  these  in  the  letter-box,  and  Constance  was 
musing  over  a  cup  of  tea,  a  messenger  with  a  note 
arrived.  It  was  from  Gordon  Perry,  and  read  by 
Henrietta  it  ran  as  follows :  Might  he  not  call  that 
evening?  He  had  the  doctor's  permission  to  do 
so;  and  she  was  to  send  a  simple  "Yes"  or  "No" 
by  the  bearer.  Now  for  it,  she  thought;  he  was 
coming  to  overwhelm  her  with  his  cunning  schemes 
for  continuing  her  salary.  Her  first  impulse  was 
to  protect  herself  by  delay;  to  ask  him  to  wait  a 
day  or  two  until  she  felt  stronger.  But  this  would 
be  a  subterfuge,  and,  excepting  that  she  dreaded 

297 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

his  philanthropy,  she  yearned  to  see  him.  He 
would  put  her  in  touch  with  the  world  again, 
from  which  she  had  been  shut  off  too  long.  "No" 
trembled  on  her  lips,  but  the  fear  of  hurting  his 
feelings  occurred  to  her  in  the  nick  of  time  as  a 
counterbalance  to  her  dread  of  being  pauperized  by 
him,  and  her  natural  inclinations  found  utterance. 

"Tell  Mr.  Perry,  yes,"  she  answered,  and  her 
spirits  rose  from  that  moment,  though  she  resolved 
to  be  as  firm  as  a  rock  on  the  threatened  issue.  She 
ascribed  his  coming  in  the  evening  rather  than  the 
afternoon  to  his  being  busy  at  the  office,  and  as  she 
put  the  children  to  bed  she  reflected  that  it  would 
be  pleasant  to  have  an  uninterrupted  visit.  She 
made  her  toilette  as  best  she  could  with  Mrs.  Har- 
rity's  aid,  and  she  inwardly  rejoiced  again  that  she 
had  not  broken  her  nose. 

Gordon  arrived  about  half-past  eight.  The 
cheer  which  his  manner  expressed  did  not  detract 
from  its  sympathy.  It  seemed  to  say  that  he  rec 
ognized  and  deplored  her  misfortune,  but  took  for 
granted  her  preference  to  face  it  smilingly,  and 
not  to  waste  time  in  superfluous  lamentation.  At 
the  same  time,  she  could  not  but  notice  his  eager 
solicitude  and  the  ardor  of  his  bearing,  which  was 
slightly  disconcerting.  Yet  he  made  her  tell  him 
the  details  of  the  accident,  listening  with  the  ear 
of  a  lawyer.  At  the  close  his  brow  clouded  slightly 
as  though  her  story  failed  to  coincide  with  his  pre 
possessions. 

"You  see  I  haven't  any  case,  have  I?"  she  said, 
divining  what  was  passing  in  his  mind.  She  cher 
ished  a  half  hope  that  his  cleverness  might  still 
extract  a  just  cause  of  action  from  her  delinquency. 

298 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Not  on  your  evidence. " 

"So  I  supposed.  Those  are  the  real  facts.  I 
jumped  before  the  car  stopped,  though  the  con 
ductor  warned  me,  and  I  heard  the  bell." 

"That  settles  it;  contributory  negligence.  But 
the  trained  nurse  who  was  with  you  tells  a  differ 
ent  story." 

"Loretta  has  been  to  see  you?" 

"Yes.  She  came  ostensibly  for  her  pay  night  be 
fore  last.  But  she  seemed  very  anxious  to  testify 
in  court  in  your  favor.  She  says  the  conductor 
wasn't  looking  at  first,  and  that  he  pushed  you  off 
the  car  just  as  you  were  jumping." 

Constance  shook  her  head.  "She  is  entirely 
mistaken  as  to  the  last  part." 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  said.  It  struck  me  that 
Miss  Davis,  unlike  most  women,  enjoyed  the  pros 
pect  of  being  a  witness.  It  was  a  great  event  to 
her,  and  she  would  be  able  to  do  you  a  good  turn." 
He  sat  for  a  moment  pondering  this  diagnosis, 
then  with  a  start,  as  though  he  had  been  surprised 
in  a  trivial  occupation,  exclaimed: 

"But  what  does  it  matter  whether  you  can  get 
paltry  damages  or  not?  I  did  not  come  here  to 
consider  that.  I  came  to  talk  with  you  about  your 
future." 

He  spoke  the  last  words  with  a  tender  cadence 
which  was  partly  lost  on  Constance,  for  she  sprang 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  moment  for  her  to  dis 
play  firmness  had  arrived,  and  that  he  was  about 
to  broach  a  scheme  for  retaining  her  in  his  em 
ployment. 

"I  must  find  some  other  occupation  for  the  next 
six  months,  of  course.  I  am  forbidden  to  use  my 

299 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

eyes  for  any  purpose.  I  have  written  to  Mrs.  Wil 
son  and  my  rector,  thinking  they  may  know  of 
some  opening  or  vacancy  where  I  could  work  with 
my  hands  or  do  errands  until  my  eyes  are  well." 
Then  noticing  the  curious  smile  with  which  he  re 
ceived  this  rather  impetuous  announcement,  and 
apprehensive  lest  he  might  be  hurt  by  her  avowed 
reliance  on  others,  she  added:  "And  you,  too,  must 
be  on  the  lookout  for  me.  You  may  hear  of  some 
thing  which  would  suit  me." 

uAs  for  that,  do  you  suppose  that  because  your 
service  to  me  is  interrupted  I  would  not  stand  in 
the  breach?  That  I  would  not  insist  on  continuing 
your  salary  until  you  were  able  to  return  to  your 
post?" 

"I  knew  it  would  be  just  like  you  to  wish  to," 
she  said,  quickly,  "but  I  could  not  possibly  allow 
it.  That's  why  I  wrote  to  Mrs.  Wilson  and  Mr. 
Prentiss,"  she  added,  not  averse  to  having  him 
know  the  real  reason  now  that  it  could  serve  her  as 
a  shield. 

Her  naive  admission  was  evidently  an  agree 
able  piece  of  intelligence.  "I  took  for  granted 
that  your  salary  would  continue.  That  was  a  mat 
ter  I  did  not  have  in  mind  in  the  least." 

"It  can't,  I  assure  you." 

He  appeared  entertained  by  her  adamantine  air. 
"Why  not?" 

"It  isn't  an  absence  of  a  week  or  two,"  she  said, 
trying  to  show  herself  reasonable.  "It  will  be  six 
months  before  I  am  able  to  work  again." 

"A  whole  six  months?" 

She  met  the  mockery  in  his  tone  with  quiet  de 
termination.  "I  could  not  allow  anyone  to  sup- 

300 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

port  me  for  that  period.  Do  you  not  see  that  I 
must  find  something  to  do  in  order  to  remain 
happy?" 

''Happy?  You  do  not  consider  my  side.  Do 
you  not  see  that  a  haggling  calendar  account  of 
weeks  and  months  is  not  applicable  to  such  service 
as  you  render  me?  How  would  the  satisfaction  of 
saving  the  modest  sum  I  pay  you  compare  with 
that  I  should  derive  from  enabling  you  to  get  well 
as  rapidly  as  possible,  untormented  by  painful 
necessities?" 

There  was  a  strange  gleam  in  his  eyes.  She 
looked  at  him  wonderingly.  His  rhetoric  troubled 
her,  and  by  dint  of  it  he  had  managed  to  make  her 
scruples  seem  ungenerous.  But  she  was  uncon 
vinced. 

"You  would  be  obliged  to  pay  someone  else," 
she  replied  with  cruel  practicality. 

"Enough  of  this,"  he  said,  impetuously.  "It 
is  absurd.  I  have  something  very  different  at 
heart.  When  I  spoke  of  your  future  just  now, 
Constance,  it  was  to  tell  you  that  I  have  come  here, 
to-night,  to  ask  you  to  be  my  wife — to  say  to  you 
that  I  love  you  devotedly  and  cannot  live  with 
out  you.  This  is  my  errand.  It  is  not  friendship 
I  offer,  it  is  not  pity,  it  is  not  esteem  for  your 
gentle,  strong  soul,  it  is  passionate  human 
love." 

He  paused  and  there  was  profound  silence  in 
the  darkened  room  where  they  could  scarcely  see 
each  other's  faces.  Constance  trembled  like  a 
leaf.  In  a  moment  the  whole  card-board  house  of 
sisterly  affection  fell  about  her  ears,  and  she  knew 
the  truth.  These  were  the  sweetest  words  she  had 

301 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ever  listened  to,  though  they  stabbed  her  like  a 
knife.  "Oh!"  she  whispered,  "Oh!" 

"Is  it  such  a  surprise,  Constance?"  he  mur 
mured,  ascribing  her  accents  of  dismay  to  that 
source.  "You  must  have  known  you  were  very 
dear  to  me." 

The  dimness  gave  her  time  to  consider  how  she 
should  deal  with  this  startling  certainty,  the  music 
of  which  was  dancing  in  her  brain.  The  meaning 
of  his  devotion  was  now  so  clear.  Yet  she  had 
never  guessed  either  his  purpose  or  the  secret  of 
her  own  disconcerting  heart-beats. 

"I  knew  you  were  fond  of  me,  but  it  never  oc 
curred  to  me  that  you  could  think  of  me  as  a  wife." 

"Why  not?  You  are  beautiful  and  charming  as 
well  as  sweet  and  wise,  and  I  adore  you." 

"I  liked  to  feel  that  we  should  go  on  being  dear 
friends  for  the  rest  of  our  lives,"  she  answered, 
tingling  with  the  thrill  which  this  avowal  caused 
her. 

From  the  tremor  of  her  speech  he  was  em 
boldened  to  regard  the  sigh  which  followed  this 
simple  voicing  of  the  exact  truth  as  an  ellipsis 
hiding  a  precious  secret. 

"Then  you  love  me,  Constance?" 

Whatever  happened,  why  should  he  not  know? 
Why  should  she  deny  herself  that  ecstasy? 

"Oh,  yes,  Gordon,  I  love  you  dearly." 

"And  you  will  be  my  wife?" 

"How  can  I,  Gordon?  You  know  I  must  not." 
There  was  gentle  pleading  in  her  tone  and  a  tinge 
of  renunciating  sadness. 

"I  mean  presently.  As  soon  as  you  obtain  a 
divorce?"  302 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 


The  ugly  word  brought  back  reality.  "Oh,  no, 
we  must  put  it  from  us.  It  is  a  delightful  vision, 
but  we  must  dismiss  it  forever." 

"Why?"  he  asked,  with  the  resonance  of  vig 
orous  manhood. 

"Because  it  would  be  an  offence." 

"Against  what?" 

"The  eternal  fitness  of  things."  This  phrase  of 
Mrs.  Wilson's  rose  to  her  lips  again  as  a  shib 
boleth.  "I  have  made  my  mistake,"  she  mur 
mured.  "I  must  suffer  the  penalty  of  it." 

"Never!"  he  ejaculated.  "It  would  be  mon 
strous — monstrous. ' ' 

There  was  a  momentary  silence.  While  he 
gazed  at  her  ardently  he  was  seeking  command  of 
himself  so  as  to  plead  his  cause  with  discriminating 
lucidity.  To  her  darkened  sight  imagination 
pictured  a  swift  river  of  fire  flowing  between  them, 
across  which  they  could  touch  their  finger-tips,  but 
no  more. 

"Do  not  think,"  he  said,  "that  I  have  not  con 
sidered  this  question  from  your  side.  It  has  been 
in  my  thoughts  night  and  day  for  months.  The 
idea  of  divorce  is  repugnant  to  you — though  you 
have  ceased  to  love  the  husband  who  deeply 
wronged  you.  You  shrink  even  more  from  mar 
rying  again  because  your  children's  father  is  still 
alive.  If  he  were  dead,  the  bar  would  be  removed, 
and  you  would  not  hesitate.  I  appeal  to  your  com 
mon  sense,  Constance.  What  sound  reason  is  there 
why  you  should  sacrifice  your  happiness — the  hap 
piness  of  us  both?" 

"It  is  not  a  question  of  common  sense — is  it?" 

303 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

It  was  a  faltering  query  which  followed  the  asser 
tion.  "The  question  is,  what  is  right?" 

"Amen  to  that!"  he  cried.  "Yes,  right,  right. 
And  who  says  it  is  not  right?" 

She  had  been  so  sure  she  would  never  marry 
again  that  she  had  never  sought  exact  knowledge 
of  her  church's  attitude  in  this  regard,  and  yet  now 
she  had  her  fears.  She  knew  that  no  Roman 
Catholic  could  marry  again  during  the  life  of  a 
divorced  husband  or  wife,  except  by  special  dis 
pensation,  and  she  was  aware  of  the  increasing 
reluctance  of  the  officials  of  her  own  church  in 
this  country  to  give  the  sanction  of  the  marriage 
service  to  the  remarriage  of  divorced  persons;  but 
she  had  never  examined  the  church  canon  on  the 
subject,  for  she  had  flattered  herself  that  she  would 
never  need  to.  Discussions  of  the  topic  which  she 
had  listened  to  or  read  had  played  like  lightnings 
around  her  oblivious  head,  but  had  served  merely 
to  intensify  her  repugnance  to  the  blatant  divorces 
and  double-quick  marriages,  which  she  had  seen 
heralded  from  time  to  time  in  the  daily  press,  and 
which  had  recently  been  brought  home  to  her  with 
peculiar  force  by  the  events  in  Mrs.  Wilson's  fam 
ily  circle.  Now  the  flare  of  the  lightning  was  in 
her  own  eyes,  and  her  brain  was  numb  with  the 
emotion  of  the  personal  shock. 

"Would  Mr.  Prentiss  marry  me  to  you?"  she 
asked,  seeking  as  usual  the  vital  issue. 

"Your  clergyman?"  His  query  was  merely  to 
gain  time.  But  he  loved  directness,  too.  "Sup 
pose  that  he  would  not,  there  are  plenty  of  clergy 
men  who  would." 

"But  he  is  mv  clergyman." 

304 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Gordon  moved  his  chair  nearer,  and  bending 
forward,  took  her  hand  in  both  of  his. 

"Dearest,  this  question  is  for  you  and  me  to  set 
tle,  not  for  any  outsider.  It  must  bear  the  test  of 
right  and  wrong,  as  you  say,  but  I  ask  you  to  look 
at  it  as  an  intelligent  human  being,  as  the  sane, 
noble-hearted  American  woman  you  are.  The 
State — the  considered  law  of  the  community  in 
which  we  live — gives  you  the  right  to  a  divorce 
and  freedom  to  marry  again.  Who  stands  in  the 
way?  Your  clergyman — the  representative  of 
your  church.  The  church  erects  a  standard  of 
conduct  of  its  own  and  asks  you  to  sacrifice  your 
life  to  it.  It  is  the  church  against  the  State — 
against  the  people.  It  is  superstition  and  privilege 
against  common  sense  and  justice.  I  should  like 
to  prove  to  you  by  arguments  how  truly  this  is  so." 

"But  I  would  rather  not  listen  to  your  argu 
ments  now,"  she  interposed.  "I  am  on  your  side 
already.  My  heart  is,  and — I  think  my  common 
sense." 

His  pulses  gave  a  bound.  "Then  nothing  can 
keep  us  apart!"  he  cried,  pressing  his  lips  upon 
her  hands  and  kissing  them  again  and  again.  "You 
are  mine,  we  belong  to  one  another.  Why  should 
a  young  and  beautiful  woman  starve  her  being  on 
such  a  plea,  and  reject  such  happiness  as  this?" 

She  drew  her  hands  gently  away,  and  herself 
beyond  his  reach.  "Ah,  you  mustn't.  If  my 
church  objects,  it  must  have  a  reason,  and  I  must 
hear  that  reason,  Gordon.  I  must  consult  with 
Mr.  Prentiss — with  him  and  others.  He  is  not  an 
outsider.  He  was  my  friend  and  helper  in  the 
bitterest  hours  of  my  life." 

305 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"He  will  do  his  best  to  take  you  from  me." 
She  shivered.  uHow  do  you  know?" 
"He  cannot  help  himself.  The  canon  of  the 
Episcopal  Church  forbids  a  clergyman  to  marry 
one  who  has  been  divorced  for  any  cause  except 
adultery.  The  Catholic  Church  goes  one  step 
further  and  forbids  altogether  the  remarriage  of 
divorced  persons.  It  does  not  recognize  divorce. 
A  large  number  of  the  clergy  of  your  church  are 
fiercely  agitating  the  adoption  of  a  similar  abso 
lute  restriction.  The  two  churches — and  their  at 
titude  has  stirred  up  other  denominations — are 
seeking  to  fasten  upon  the  American  conscience  an 
ideal  inconsistent  with  the  free  development  of 
human  society." 

She  caught  at  the  phrase.     "Yet  it  is  an  ideal." 
Gordon  took  a  long  breath.     In  the  ardor  of 
his  mental  independence  he  seemed  to  be  seeking 
some  fit  word  to  epitomize  his  deduction. 

"It  is  a  fetish!"  he  said,  earnestly.  "It  repre 
sents  the  past — privilege — superstition — injustice, 
as  I  have  already  told  you." 

"Oh,  no,"  she  murmured,  "it  cannot  be  simply 
that.  You  forget  that  I  am  a  woman.  You  do 
not  realize  what  the  church  means  to  me." 

"I  remember  that  you  are  an  American  woman." 
The  remark  evidently  impressed  her.  She  pon 
dered  it  briefly  before  she  said,  "I  am,  and  I 
know  how  much  that  ought  to  mean.  I  wish  to 
be  worthy  of  it."  She  appeared  troubled;  then 
putting  her  hand  to  her  head  she  rose,  seeking  in 
stinctively  an  end  of  the  interview.  "I  must  think 
it  over.  You  must  not  talk  to  me  any  more  to 
night.  I  did  not  realize  how  weak  I  am."  Sud- 

306 


I 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

denly  she  exclaimed,  "Ah,  Gordon,  you  do  not 
understand  all!  I  forsook  the  church  once  in  the 
pride  of  my  heart.  I  wandered  among  false  gods, 
and  it  took  me  back  without  a  word  of  rebuke  for 
my  independence.  I  must  do  what  is  right  this 
time — what  is  really  right — at  any  cost." 

As  she  stood  in  the  shadow,  erect  and  piteous, 
but  with  the  aspect  of  spiritual  aspiration  in  her 
voice  and  figure,  stalwart  as  he  was  in  his  sense  of 
righteousness,  he  thought  of  Marguerite  in  the 
prison  scene  when  Faust  implores  her  to  fly  with 
him. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said,  "for  having  tired  and 
harassed  you.  It  was  my  love  for  you  that  led 
me  on."  He  spoke  with  tenderness,  and  under  the 
spell  of  his  mood  dropped  on  one  knee  beside  her 
and  looked  up  in  her  face. 

"You  may  tell  me  about  that  before  you  go," 
she  whispered,  like  one  spellbound. 

"It  is  not  much  to  tell — except  that  it  means 
everything  to  me.  It  has  grown  from  a  tiny  seed, 
little  by  little,  until  it  has  become  the  harvest  and 
the  glory  of  my  manhood.  Ah,  Constance,  we 
love  each  other.  How  much  that  means.  It  sets 
the  seal  of  beauty  on  this  commonplace  world.  It 
will  transfigure  life  for  both  of  us." 

She  started.  "The  seal  of  beauty?"  she  mur 
mured,  as  to  herself.  "If  I  were  but  sure  of  that! 
What  I  fear  is  lest  I  mar  the  beauty  of  the  world, 
and  so  sin." 

"It  was  my  mother's  hope  that  we  should  mar 
ry,"  he  said,  reverting  to  concrete  ground. 

"I  think  so,"  she  answered,  faintly,  pressing  his 
hand. 

307 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"And  her  idea  was  to  do  right." 

"I  know." 

She  sighed,  then  whispered,  "You  must  go  now." 

Rising  from  his  posture  beside  her  he  prepared 
to  obey.  They  stood  for  an  instant,  irresolute, 
then,  as  by  a  common  impulse,  his  arms  opened 
and  she  suffered  herself  to  be  clasped  in  his  strong 
embrace.  It  seemed  to  him  as  he  felt  her  head 
upon  his  breast  and  her  nervous,  wistful  face 
looked  up  into  his  that  his  happiness  was  assured. 
But  she  was  thinking  that  come  what  might — and 
she  was  conscious  of  a  dreadful  uncertainty  in  her 
heart — she  would  not  deny  herself  this  single 
draught  of  the  cup  of  happiness.  It  was  a  precious, 
sentient  joy  to  be  thought  beautiful,  and  to  feel 
that  she  was  desired  for  herself  alone  by  this  hero 
of  her  ripe  womanhood.  So  she  let  herself  go  as 
one  who  snatches  at  escaping  joy,  and  their  lips 
met  in  the  full  rapture  of  a  lover's  kiss. 


308 


XIX 

THE  news  of  the  tragedy  in  her  daughter's 
life — of  the  double  domestic  tragedy,  which 
included  her  nephew — came  to  Mrs.  Wilson  as  an 
appalling  surprise.  She  had  gathered  from  the 
tenor  of  Lucille's  letters  that  her  daughter  was  not 
entirely  happy;  but  her  appreciation  of  this  was 
derived  rather  from  what  she  read  between  the 
lines  than  from  actual  admissions.  It  had  never  en 
tered  her  head  that  there  was  danger  of  a  rupture 
between  Lucille  and  her  husband  until  the  dreadful 
truth  was  disclosed  to  her  by  her  brother.  From 
him  she  learned  that  Paul  and  his  wife  had  sepa 
rated  and  were  to  be  divorced  because  of  the  rela 
tions  between  Paul's  wife  and  Clarence  Waldo. 
Carleton  Howard  added  that  his  son  had  not  the 
heart  to  tell  her  himself  before  his  departure  for 
New  York,  and  had  delegated  him  to  break  the 
intelligence. 

When  the  first  wholesale  mutual  commiserations 
had  been  exchanged  between  the  brother  and  sister, 
Mrs.  Wilson  realized  that  she  was  practically  in 
the  dark  regarding  Lucille.  Paul's  calamity  was 
so  completely  the  controlling  thought  in  her 
brother's  mind  that,  though  he  occasionally  de 
plored  the  plight  in  which  his  niece  appeared  to  be 
left,  he  was  evidently  bent  on  working  his  way 
through  the  labyrinth  of  his  personal  dismay  until 

3°9 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

he  could  find  a  clue  which  would  lead  his  mind  to 
daylight.  After  various  ebullitions  of  anger  and 
disgust,  he  found  this  at  last  in  the  assertion  that 
it  was  best  for  Paul  to  be  rid  of  such  a  wife;  that 
he  had  never  really  fancied  his  daughter-in-law, 
and  that  the  only  course  was  to  obliterate  her  from 
their  memory.  She  had  disgraced  the  family,  and 
her  name  was  never  to  be  mentioned  again  in  his 
presence.  This  was  an  eminently  masculine  method 
of  disposing  of  the  matter.  After  Mr.  Howard 
had  accepted  it  as  a  solution,  he  was  able  to  com 
pose  himself  in  his  chair  and  to  smoke.  For  the 
past  two  days,  ever  since  Paul  had  talked  to  him, 
he  had  been  walking  up  and  down  his  library, 
champing  an  unlighted  cigar,  with  the  measured 
stalk  of  a  grim  lion.  Now  his  brow  lifted  appre 
ciably.  But  his  sister's  eyes  fell  before  his  aspect 
of  dignified  relief.  His  solution  was  of  no  avail  to 
her.  It  could  not  answer  the  distressing  questions 
which  were  haunting  her.  Why  had  not  Lucille 
written?  What  did  the  silence  mean?  She  re 
solved  that  if  she  did  not  hear  something  in  the 
morning  she  would  take  the  first  train  East,  for 
might  not  the  child  be  sobbing  her  heart  out,  too 
mortified  even  to  confide  in  her  mother?  Thus 
speculating,  Mrs.  Wilson  looked  up  to  inquire  once 
again  whether  Paul  had  not  said  something  more 
definite  regarding  his  cousin.  She  had  asked  this 
twice  already,  and  on  each  occasion  Mr.  Howard 
had  suspended  his  cogitations  in  order  to  ransack 
his  memory,  but  only  in  vain;  which  was  not 
strange,  for  Paul  had  taken  pains  in  his  conversa 
tion  with  his  father  to  avoid  unnecessary  allu 
sion  to  Lucille,  letting  her  appear,  like  himself, 

310 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

an  innocent  victim  of  the  family  disaster.  Mr. 
Howard  was  now  equally  unsuccessful  in  his  recol 
lection.  Yet  while  he  was  speaking,  the  tension 
of  Mrs.  Wilson's  mind  was  relieved  by  the  receipt 
of  a  telegram.  Lucille  was  on  her  way  from  New 
port,  and  would  reach  Benham  the  following 
evening. 

Mrs.  Wilson  met  her  at  the  station.  The 
mother  and  daughter  embraced  with  emotion,  thus 
betraying  what  was  uppermost  in  the  thought  of 
each.  But  Lucille  promptly  recovered  her  com 
posure,  chatting  briskly  in  the  carriage  as  though 
she  were  bent  on  avoiding  for  the  time  being  the 
crucial  topic.  On  reaching  the  house  she  evinced 
a  lively  interest  in  the  supper  which  had  been 
prepared  for  her,  eating  with  appetite  and  leading 
the  conversation  to  matters  of  secondary  import. 
Mrs.  Wilson,  though  burning  to  ask  and  to  hear 
everything,  held  her  peace  and  bridled  her  impa 
tience.  It  seemed  to  her  that  Lucille  was  looking 
well,  and  had  gained  in  social  dignity,  which  might 
partly  be  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  she  was  a 
matron  and  a  mother,  partly  by  a  slight  access  of 
flesh ;  but  the  impression  produced  on  Mrs.  Wil 
son's  mind  was  that  she  appeared  less  spiritually 
heedless  than  formerly — a  consummation  devoutly 
to  be  desired  in  this  hour  of  stress.  As  she  watched 
her  at  table  she  noted  with  a  mother's  pride  the 
tastefulness  of  her  attire,  and  the  sophistication  of 
her  speech.  For  the  first  time — much  as  she  had 
longed  for  it  in  the  past — the  hope  took  root  in 
her  heart  that  their  tastes  might  yet  some  day  coin 
cide,  and  each  find  in  allegiance  to  the  fit  devel 
opment  of  the  human  race  the  true  zest  of  life. 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Yet  how  could  Lucille  be  so  calm?  How  could  she 
appear  so  unconcerned  ? 

Lucille's  mask,  such  as  it  was,  was  not  lifted 
until  she  had  been  shown  to  her  room.  "I  will 
come  to  you  presently,  mamma,"  she  said,  and 
Mrs.  Wilson  understood  what  was  meant.  When 
she  came — it  was  to  her  mother's  boudoir  and 
study — she  had  loosened  her  hair,  and  was 
wrapped  in  a  dainty  pink  and  white  wrapper.  She 
established  herself  comfortably  on  a  lounge,  and 
crossed  her  hands  on  her  breast.  Mrs.  Wilson  was 
sitting  at  her  desk  obliquely  in  the  line  of  vision, 
so  she  had  merely  to  turn  her  head  on  her  sup 
ported  elbow  in  order  to  command  her  daughter's 
expression.  So  they  sat  for  a  moment,  until  Lu 
cille  said: 

"Well,  mamma,  I  suppose  Paul  has  told  you 
everything.  Clarence  and  I  have  separated  for 
good,  and  I  am  on  the  way  to  South  Dakota." 

There  was  a  profound  silence.  In  spite  of  the 
introduction  the  import  of  the  last  words  was  lost 
on  Mrs.  Wilson.  She  was  simply  puzzled.  "South 
Dakota?"  she  queried.  "Paul  told  me  nothing. 
Your  uncle " 

"You  know  surely  what  has  happened?"  It  was 
Lucille's  turn  to  look  surprised. 

"I  know,  my  child,  that  your  husband  has  been 
false  to  you  with  your  cousin  Paul's  wife." 

"And  both  Paul  and  I  are  to  obtain  a  di 
vorce." 

Mrs.  Wilson  winced.  "Your  uncle  intimated  as 
much  in  the  case  of  Paul.  I  had  hoped  you  might 
not  think  it  obligatory  to  break  absolutely  with 
your  husband.  Or,  rather,  Lucille,  my  mind  was 

312 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

so  full  of  distress  for  you  that  I  did  not  look  be 
yond  the  dreadful  present.  You  do  not  know  how 
my  heart  bleeds  for  you,  dear." 

As  she  spoke,  Mrs.  Wilson  left  her  seat,  and 
kneeling  beside  the  lounge,  put  her  arms  around 
her  daughter's  neck.  Lucille,  grateful  for  the  sym 
pathy,  raised  herself  to  receive  and  return  the  em 
brace,  but  her  speech  was  calm. 

"It  is  a  mortification,  of  course;  it  would  be  to 
iany  woman.  If  he  had  been  faithful  to  me,  I 
would  never  have  left  him.  But  we  were  mismated 
from  the  first.  We  found  out  six  months  after  our 
marriage  that  we  bored  each  other;  and  then  we 
drifted  apart.  So  there  would  be  no  use  trying  to 
patch  it  up.  We  should  only  lead  a  dog  and  cat 
life.  Besides — "  she  paused  an  instant,  then  inter 
jected,  "I  hoped  Paul  had  broken  this  to  you, 
mamma — I  want  to  be  free  because  I  am  going  to 
marry  again." 

Mrs.  Wilson  sprang  back  as  though  she  had 
been  buffeted.  "Marry  again?"  she  gasped. 

Lucille  spoke  softly  but  with  firmness.  "I  am 
going  to  marry  Mr.  Bradbury  Nicholson  of  New 
?York."  She  added  a  few  words  as  to  his  identity, 
then  with  an  emphasis  intended  to  express  the  ar 
dor  of  a  soul  which  has  come  to  its  own  at  last, 
exclaimed : 

"I'm  deeply  in  love  with  him,  mamma;  and  I 
rnever  was  with  Clarence.  I  thought  I  was,  but  I 
wasn't.  This  time  it's  the  real  thing." 

Mrs.  Wilson  rose  and  returning  to  her  desk 
rested  her  head  again  upon  her  supported  elbow. 
She  was  stunned.  The  shock  of  the  announcement 
iwas  such  that  she  did  not  attempt  to  speak.  But 

313 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

Lucille,  having  begun,  was  evidently  bent  on 
making  a  clean  breast  of  her  affairs. 

"So  I  am  on  my  way  to  Sioux  Falls  to  obtain  a 
divorce." 

"Why  do  you  go  there?" 

"Because  it  is  one  of  the  quickest  places.  Resi 
dence  is  necessary  to  enable  me  to  sue,  and  residence 
can  be  acquired  by  living  there  ninety  days.  Then, 
too,  the  courts  don't  insist  on  very  strict  proof, 
so  I  can  obtain  a  divorce  for  neglect  or  cruelty, 
and  avoid  the  unpleasantness  of  alleging  anything 
worse.  I  thought  of  Connecticut,  where  the  law 
allows  a  divorce  for  any  such  misconduct  as  perma 
nently  destroys  one's  happiness  and  defeats  the 
marriage  relation,  but  my  lawyer  said  it  would  be 
simpler  and  quicker  to  go  to  South  Dakota.  Clar 
ence  knows  all  about  it,  and  is  only  too  glad,  and 
he  has  agreed  to  give  up  all  claim  on  baby." 

The  reference  to  her  grandchild  plunged  a  fresh 
dagger  into  Mrs.  Wilson's  heart. 

"Where  is  your  baby?"  she  asked,  sternly.  She 
had  already  in  the  carriage  inquired  for  its  welfare, 
taking  for  granted  that  its  mother  had  been  un 
willing  to  bring  it  on  what  had  appeared  to  be  a 
flying  journey. 

"At  Newport.  Two  of  my  maids  and  baby  are 
to  join  me  here.  I  don't  wish  to  start  for  a  week, 
if  you  will  keep  me,  and,  as  there  was  packing  still 
to  be  done,  and  the  Newport  air  is  fresher  so  early 
in  the  autumn,  I  told  them  to  follow.  You  may 
keep  baby  here  until  I  send  for  her,  if  it  would 
make  you  feel  any  happier,  mamma." 

Mrs.  Wilson  made  no  response  to  this  self-sacri 
ficing  offer.  She  was  asking  herself  whether  it  were 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ot  her  duty  as  an  outraged  parent  to  rise  in  her 
rony  and,  pointing  to  the  door,  bid  Lucille  choose 
jtween  her  lover  and  herself.  But  would  not  this 
;  old-fashioned?  Could  she  endure  to  quarrel 
ith  her  own  and  only  flesh  and  blood?  Over- 
helmed  as  she  was  by  her  daughter's  absolute  in- 
I  fference  to  considerations  which  she  reverenced 
j ;  the  laws  of  her  being,  Mrs.Wilson  prided  herself 
:i  being  equally  a  leader  of  spiritual  progress,  a 
I  <oman  of  the  world,  and  an  American.  She  recog- 
|  zed  that  it  behooved  her  to  display  no  less  acu- 
|ien  and  tact  in  dealing  with  her  personal  problem 
jian  in  confronting  the  quandaries  of  others.  She 
pew  instinctively  that  violent  opposition  would 
imply  alienate  Lucille  and  confirm  her  in  her  pur- 
iDse.  It  was  obvious  that  their  point  of  view  was 
I  divergent  as  the  poles.  How  could  Lucille  take 
ke  affair  so  philosophically?  How  could  she 
Umly  regard  the  neglect  and  sin  of  her  husband 
uerely  as  the  logical  sequence  of  the  discovery  that 
•icy  were  mismated,  and  find  a  sufficient  explana- 
pn  for  everything  in  the  announcement  that  they 
ad  bored  each  other?  Yet  Mrs.  Wilson  appre 
ciated  in  those  moments  of  horror  that  it  would  be 
rorse  than  futile  to  give  bitter  utterance  to  her 
notions.  By  so  doing  she  would  alienate  her 
aughter  and  fail  to  alter  the  situation.  Though 
Protesting  with  the  full  vigor  of  her  being,  she 
Imst  be  reasonable  or  she  could  accomplish 
lothing.  So  she  put  a  curb  upon  her  lips.  There 
rere  so  many  things  she  wished  to  say  that  for  a 
pell  she  could  not  formulate  her  thoughts.  She 
I  ras  reminded  that  she  appeared  tongue-tied  by 
| earing  Lucille  remark: 

315 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"I  was  afraid  that  you  would  be  distressed, 
mamma.  That's  why  I  didn't  write  or  consult 
you.  You  don't  approve  of  divorce,  I  know.  It's 
opposed  to  your  ideas  of  things.  But  I've  thought 
over  everything  thoroughly,  and  it's  the  only  possi 
ble  course  for  me." 

This  complacency  was  disconcerting  as  a  stone 
wall,  and  made  still  plainer  to  Mrs.  Wilson  that 
the  offender  indulgently  regretted  the  necessity  of 
explaining  and  vindicating  such  common-sense 
principles. 

"It  is  true,  Lucille,  that  I  disapprove  of  divorce 
on  aesthetic  if  not  religious  grounds.  It  is  an  un 
savory  institution."  She  paused  a  moment  to  give 
complete  effect  to  the  phrase.  "It  seems  to  me  to 
diminish  spiritual  self-respect,  and  to  impair  that 
feminine  delicacy  which  is  an  essential  ornament 
of  civilization.  At  the  same  time,  if  you  had  told 
me  that,  on  account  of  your  husband's  sin,  you  had 
decided  not  merely  to  leave  him,  but  to  dissolve  the 
bond,  I  should  have  demurred,  perhaps,  but  I 
should  have  acquiesced.  I  should  have  counselled 
you  to  live  apart  without  divorce,  as  I  regard  mar 
riage  as  a  sacrament  of  the  Christian  church,  but 
I  should  have  accepted  your  decision  to  the  con 
trary  without  a  serious  pang.  But  you  have  just 
told  me,  my  child,  that  you  are  seeking  a  divorce 
from  your  husband  because  you  are  mismated,  in 
order  to  become  as  quickly  as  possible  the  wife  of 
another  man,  whom  you  profess  to  love.  I  cannot 
prevent  you  from  doing  this  if  you  insist,  but  as 
your  mother,  I  cannot  let  you  commit  what  seems 
to  me,  from  the  most  lenient  standpoint,  a  gross 
indelicacy,  without  seeking  to  dissuade  you." 

316 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

[n  conjunction  with  her  ambition  to  reason  in  a 
capacity,  Mrs.  Wilson  was  well  aware  that 
:  world  demands  promptness  of  decision  no  less 
n  wisdom  from  its  busy  leaders;  that  the  public 
lies  on  the  past  equipment  of  the  lawyer  or  the 
jysician  for  correct  advice  on  the  spur  of  the 
ijjment.  It  was  her  custom  to  face  confidently 
tj ;  problems  of  life  which  others  invited  her  to 
l.ve,  as  a  surgeon  confronts  the  operating  table, 
Jidy  to  do  her  best  on  the  spot.  She  knew  that 
t  *  consciousness  of  being  rushed  is  part  of  the 
jnalty  of  success,  and  that  half  the  effectiveness 
I  a  busy  person  consists  in  the  ability  to  think  and 
jjt  quickly.  So  now,  face  to  face  with  her  own 
Ire  problem,  her  mind  centred  on  the  fit  solution 
I  her  daughter's  tragedy,  she  relied  on  the  same 
isthod,  yearning  to  apply  the  knife,  tie  up  the 
I  laments  and  cauterize  the  heart-sorrow  in  sum- 
Iiary  fashion  by  virtue  of  her  past  equipment.  So 
i.e  spoke  with  conviction,  yet  aware  that  the  prob- 
Im  presented  had  been  hitherto  for  her  mainly 
|:ademic,  and  now  for  the  first  time  loomed  up 
Ji  the  horizon  of  life  as  an  immediate  practical 
isue. 

j  Pursuing  her  theme  Mrs.  Wilson  singled  out 
br  urgent  protest  the  one  point  which  stood  out 
Ike  an  excrescence  on  the  surface  of  the  sorry 
jrory,  and  put  all  else  in  the  background — the 
rejected  hasty  marriage.  Its  precipitancy  of- 
hnded  her  most  cherished  sensibilities.  With  all 
lie  sentiment  and  mental  suppleness  at  her  com- 
liand  she  endeavored  to  point  out  the  vulgarity 
|f  the  proceeding.  How  was  it  to  be  reconciled 
nth  true  womanly  refinement?  Was  the  holy 

317 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

state  of  matrimony  to  be  shuffled  off  and  on  as 
though  it  were  a  misfit  glove?  She  appealed  to 
the  claims  of  good  taste  and  family  pride.  But, 
though  Lucille  listened  decorously,  it  was  obvious 
that  the  effect  of  the  scandal  of  mutual  prompt  re 
marriages  had  no  terrors  for  her.  Or,  rather, 
when  her  mother  paused,  she  disputed  it,  claim 
ing  that  the  affair  would  be  a  seven  days'  wonder; 
that  the  world  would  speedily  forget,  or,  at  least, 
forgive,  if  the  new  ventures  proved  successful;- 
that  precipitancy  in  such  cases  was  not  novel,  and 
that  the  people  whose  social  approbation  she  de 
sired  would  consider  her  sensible  for  putting  an 
end  to  an  intolerable  relation  and  claiming  her 
happiness  at  the  earliest  possible  date. 

From  a  wholesale  plea  of  what  she  referred  to 
as  spiritual  decency  directed  against  unseemly 
haste,  Mrs.  Wilson,  sick  at  heart,  began  to  par 
ticularize,  and  at  the  same  time  enlarged  her  atti 
tude  so  as  to  disclose  her  innate  feeling  against 
divorce  in  general.  She  spoke  of  the  plight  of  the 
children  concerned,  and  in  alluding  to  her  grand 
child,  her  tone  was  piteous.  The  thought  seemed 
to  give  her  courage,  so  that  when  Lucille,  who 
evidently  had  a  pat  response  to  this  contention 
ready,  sought  to  interrupt,  Mrs.  Wilson  raised  a 
warning  hand  to  signify  that  she  must  insist  on 
being  heard  to  the  end.  She  dwelt  upon  the  value 
of  the  home  to  human  society,  and  in  this  appeal 
she  gave  free  utterance  to  her  religious  convic 
tions,  defending  the  sacredness  of  the  marriage  tie 
from  the  point  of  view  of  Christian  orthodoxy. 
She  spoke  with  emotion  and  at  some  length. 
Though  she  had  never  thought  the  matter  out 

318 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

hitherto  as  a  personal  issue,  she  found  that  she 
had  in  reserve  a  whole  set  of  argumentative  prin 
ciples  to  back  her  aesthetic  eloquence.  She  urged 
upon  her  daughter  that  if  neither  good  taste,  fam 
ily  pride,  nor  maternal  solicitude  would  restrain 
her,  she  heed  the  teachings  of  the  church,  which 
had  prescribed  the  law  of  strict  domestic  ties  as 
essential  to  the  righteous  development  of  human 
civilization,  and  which  regarded  the  family  as  the 
corner-stone  of  social  order  and  social  beauty. 
Was  her  only  child  prepared  to  fly  so  flagrantly 
in  the  face  of  this  teaching?  Would  she  refuse  to 
reverence  this  standard?  As  she  evolved  this  final 
plea,  Mrs.  Wilson  felt  herself  on  firmer  ground. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  welded  all  her  pro 
testing  instincts  into  a  comprehensive  claim  which 
could  not  be  resisted,  for,  though  emphasizing  the 
obligations  of  the  soul,  she  had  tried  to  be  both 
broad  and  modern.  She  had  not  quoted  the  lan 
guage  of  Scripture — the  words  of  Christ  impos 
ing  close  limitations,  if  not  an  absolute  bar  on 
divorce.  She  felt  that  there  was  more  chance  in 
influencing  Lucille  through  an  intellectual  appeal 
to  her  sense  of  social  wisdom  based  on  present 
conditions,  though  to  the  speaker's  own  mind  the 
modern  argument  was  simply  a  vindication  of  the 
precious  inspired  truth.  But  she  dismissed  the 
thought  that  her  daughter  was  regarding  her  as 
old-fashioned,  and  she  spoke  from  the  depths  of 
her  being,  so  that  when  she  ceased,  there  were  tears 
upon  her  cheeks. 

Lucille  had  listened  indulgently  with  downcast 
eyes.  She  was  unmoved;  nevertheless,  with  ner 
vous  inappropriateness,  she  turned  slowly  round 

319 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

and  round  the  wedding-ring  on  her  finger  as  she 
revolved  her  mother's  appeal.  When  the  end  came 
she  remained  respectfully  silent  for  a  moment,  but 
there  was  matter-of-fact  definiteness  in  her  reply. 

"You  know,  mamma,  that  you  and  I  never  did 
agree  on  things  like  that.  I  don't  recognize  the 
right  of  the  church  to  interfere,  so  I  put  religion 
out  of  the  question.  As  to  injury  to  civilization, 
it  seems  to  me  of  no  advantage  to  society,  and  pre 
posterous  besides,  that  two  persons  utterly  mis- 
mated,  like  Clarence  and  me,  should  continue 
wretched  all  our  lives  when  the  law  of  the  land 
will  set  us  free.  What  good  would  it  do  if  I  re 
mained  single?" 

"Live  apart,  if  you  like;  but  to  marry  again — 
and  so  quickly,  Lucille,  is  an  offence  both  against 
the  flesh  and  the  spirit,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  tensely. 
"Good?  It  would  help  to  maintain  the  integrity 
of  the  home  upon  which  progressive  civilization 


rests." 


Lucille  pursed  her  lips.  "I  shall  have  a  home 
when  I  marry  again.  A  far  happier  home  than 
before;  and  baby  will  be  far  happier  than  if  she 
grew  up  in  a  discordant  household  where  there 
was  no  love  and  mutual  indifference.  Besides, 
supposing  I  didn't  marry  again — supposing  Paul's 
wife  did  not  marry  again,  what  would  happen? 
We  should  lead  immoral  lives,  as  people  similarly 
situated  do  in  the  Latin  countries,  where  the 
church  forbids  the  marriage  of  divorced  persons. 
It  ought  to  satisfy  you,  mamma,  that  there  is  not 
a  word  of  truth  in  the  story  of  too  intimate  rela 
tions  between  me  and  Mr.  Nicholson  circulated  at 
Newport.  I  told  him  I  should  keep  him  at  arm's 

320 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

length  until  I  was  divorced  and  at  liberty  to  marry 
him.  I  let  him  kiss  me  once,  and  that  was  all. 
What  would  a  woman  in  Paris  or  London  have 
done?  The  church  there  doesn't  seem  to  mind 
what  goes  on  behind  the  scenes,  provided  the  mass 
of  the  people  is  kept  in  ignorance." 

Mrs.  Wilson  had  colored  at  the  reference  to 
calumniating  rumors.  It  was  clear,  now,  why 
Paul  had  preferred  to  speak  by  proxy.  Could  it 
be  her  own  daughter  who  was  claiming  credit  for 
such  forbearance?  Her  first  impulse  was  to  in 
quire  what  conduct  had  given  rise  to  the  more 
serious  imputation,  but  she  shrank  from  the  ques 
tion.  It  was  Lucille  who  spoke  first. 

"I  assure  you,  I  expect  to  have  a  very  charming 
home,  and,  if  I  have  more  children,  to  bring  them 
up  well.  In  a  year  or  two  the  hateful  past  will 
seem  only  a  nightmare.  Why  should  you  or  the 
church  seek  to  deprive  me  of  happiness?  In  my 
individual  case  our — your  church  would  marry  me 
because  my  husband  had  been  unfaithful,  pro 
vided  I  procured  a  divorce  on  that  ground — which 
I  do  not  intend  to  do.  But  I  am  defending  my 
self  on  general  principles.  As  your  daughter  you 
would  wish  me  to  have  the  courage  of  my  con 
victions." 

Mrs.  Wilson  sighed.  This  appeal  to  her  in 
dependence  was  discouragingly  genuine.  "Then, 
where  do  you  draw  the  line?"  she  asked,  repeat 
ing  a  formula. 

"As  to  divorce?"  Lucille  shrugged  her  shoul 
ders.  "The  courts  decide  that,  I  suppose.  I  asked 
what  the  law  was,  and  the  lawyer  told  me." 

Mrs.  Wilson  groaned.  "The  courts!  And,  ac- 
321 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

cordingly,  you  apply  to  the  court  which  will  grant 
you  a  divorce  most  speedily." 

"And  with  the  least  possible  unpleasant  pro 
cedure.  Certainly,  I  wish  to  be  married  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"The  law  must  be  changed."  Mrs.  Wilson 
clasped  her  hands  energetically. 

"Very  likely,  mamma.  Now  we  are  on  sensible 
ground.  But  if  the  law  were  made  more  strict  the 
church  would  still  object.  So  it  wouldn't  make 
much  difference  from  your  point  of  view." 

There  was  a  touch  of  complacent  paganism  in 
the  tone  of  this  last  remark  which  fused  Mrs.  Wil 
son's  poignant  emotions  to  a  fever  point. 

"It  crucifies  renunciation.  It  is  individualism 
run  mad.  Child,  child!"  she  exclaimed,  "do  not 
be  too  sure  that  easy-going  rationalism  is  the  an 
swer  to  all  the  problems  of  the  universe.  The 
time  will  yet  come  when  you  will  recognize  what 
ideals  mean — when  your  eyes  will  be  opened  to 
the  unseen  things  of  the  spirit.  Before  you  take 
this  step  I  beg  of  you  to  talk  with  Mr.  Prentiss." 

Lucille  shook  her  head,  but  her  reply  was  unex 
pectedly  humble.  She  avoided  an  opinion  regard 
ing  the  prophecy,  but  her  words  disclosed  that  she 
wished  her  mother  to  perceive  that  her  soul  had 
its  own  troubles,  and  was  not  altogether  self-con 
gratulatory  in  its  processes. 

"Of  course  I  would  give  anything  if  Clarence 
and  I  had  not  fallen  out,  and  our  marriage  proved 
a  failure.  I  can  see  that  such  an  experience  takes 
the  freshness  from  any  woman's  life.  It  would  be 
of  no  use,  however,  for  me  to  see  Mr.  Prentiss. 
We  should  differ  fundamentally.  I  do  not  regard 

322 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

marriage  as  a  sacrament,  he  does.  You  see  I  have 
considered  the  question  from  all  sides,  mamma." 

"You  regard  it  as  a  contract,  I  suppose,"  said 
Mrs.  Wilson,  pensively. 

"Yes;  the  most  solemn,  the  most  important  of 
contracts,  if  you  like,  but  a  contract."  Lucille  was 
trying  to  be  reasonable,  but  her  sense  of  humor 
suddenly  getting  the  better  of  her  filial  discretion, 
she  added: 

"Why,  of  course,  it  is  simply  a  contract.  Every 
one  except  clergymen  regards  it  so  nowadays.  If 
Clarence  had  died,  I  could  marry  again;  why 
shouldn't  I  be  just  as  free,  when  he  has  been  un 
true  to  me,  to  regard  our  marriage  at  an  end — 
and " 

Mrs.  Wilson  put  up  her  hand.  "I  am  familiar 
with  the  argument.  For  adultery,  perhaps,  yes; 
but  for  everything  else,  no.  And  the  Roman 
Church  forbids  it  absolutely."  She  reflected  a  mo 
ment,  then,  as  one  who  has  worked  out  vindication 
for  an  ancient  principle  by  the  light  of  modern 
ideas,  she  added,  impressively,  "It  may  well  be, 
that  from  the  standpoint  of  the  welfare  of  the 
home — the  protection  of  human  society  against 
rampant  selfish  individualism — the  oldest  church 
of  all  was  wise,  and  is  wise,  in  insisting  on  ad 
herence  to  the  letter  of  the  words  of  Christ  as  best 
adapted  to  the  safety  of  civilization.  And  that, 
too,"  she  continued,  significantly,  "even  though  the 
souls  affected  sin  in  secret,  because  they  cannot 
override  the  law.  I  do  not  say,"  she  added,  no 
ticing  the  surprise  in  her  daughter's  face,  "that 
this  winking  of  the  church  is  defensible ;  but  I  sub 
mit  that  the  consequences  can  be  no  worse  than 

323 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

those  resulting  from  the  flood-tide  of  easy  divorce, 
the  fruit  of  unbridled  caprice." 

"And  what  do  you  say  to  the  attitude  of  the 
Church  of  England,  of  which  our  Episcopal 
Church  is  an  offshoot.  An  English  woman  in 
Newport  told  me  the  other  day  that  a  wife  can 
not  obtain  a  divorce  from  her  husband  unless  in 
fidelity  be  coupled  with  cruel  and  abusive  treat 
ment,  though  the  contrary  is  true  in  case  of  a  man. 
A  husband  can  have  his  affairs,  provided  he  does 
not  make  them  public  or  beat  his  wife,  but  she 
must  toe  the  mark.  And  in  England  the  law  of 
the  church  is  the  law  of  the  land." 

Mrs.  Wilson  pondered  a  moment.  "Our  Epis 
copal  Church  sanctions  no  such  distinction.  But, 
after  all,  woman  is  not  quite  the  same  as  man.  Her 
standard  is  different;  she  still  expects  to  be  held  to 
a  subtler  sense  of  beauty  and  duty  in  matters  which 
involve  the  perpetuation  of  the  race.  The  English 
rule  seems  old-fashioned  to  us,  for  we  insist  on 
equal  purity  for  the  husband  and  the  wife  as  essen 
tial  to  domestic  unity.  Yet  the  framers  of  that 
law  were  wise  in  their  day;  wise,  surely,  if  the 
doctrine  of  loose  marital  bonds  is  to  imperil  the 
permanence  of  the  institution  we  call  the  family." 

"But  I  fail  to  see  the  advantage  to  human  so 
ciety  of  any  family  the  two  chief  members  of  which 
are  at  daggers  drawn,  and  mutually  unhappy." 

Mrs.  Wilson  recognized  that  the  gulf  of  con 
tradiction  which  yawned  between  them  was  bot 
tomless,  and  not  to  be  bridged.  We  learn  with 
reluctance  that  each  generation  is  a  law  unto  itself. 
Yet  she  said,  as  a  a  swan  song,  "The  Episcopal 
Church  and  also  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  stand 

324 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

for,  and  reverence,  the  ideals  of  beauty,  of  imagi 
nation,  of  aspiration.  They  abhor  spiritual  com 
monness.  They  forget  not  the  words  of  the  pro 
verb  :  'Keep  thy  heart  with  all  diligence,  for  out  of 
it  are  the  issues  of  life.'  Divorce  is  a  device  of 
mediocrity  and  dwarfed  vision.  It  is  a  perquisite 
of  commonness." 

The  phrase  made  Lucille  start,  and  she  sat 
troubled  for  a  moment.  To  be  adjudged  common 
was  the  most  disconcerting  indictment  which  could 
have  been  framed.  But  reflection  was  reassuring. 
She  answered  presently. 

"I'm  sure  it  won't  make  any  difference  in  my 
case;  everybody  I  care  about  will  call  on  me  just 
the  same." 

Meanwhile,  under  the  shock  to  her  convictions, 
Mrs.  Wilson  had  bowed  her  face  on  her  hands  on 
her  desk,  and  hot  tears  moistened  her  palms.  Lu 
cille  watched  her  nervously,  then  rose  and  went  to 
her,  and  put  her  arm  about  her.  "You  mustn't  feel 
so  badly,  mamma.  It  will  come  out  all  right:  I 
know  it  will.  I  am  certain  to  be  happy — and 
though  you  may  not  think  it,  I  am  much  more 
serious  than  I  used  to  be.  Of  course,  I  wouldn't 
belong  to  any  other  church  than  the  Episcopal;  all 
the  nicest  people  one  knows  are  Episcopalians  now. 
As  you  say,  that  and  the  Roman  Catholic  are  the 
only  ones  which  appeal  to  the  imagination." 

Mrs.  Wilson's  tears  flowed  faster  at  this  demon 
stration  of  sympathy.  She  accepted  and  was 
soothed  by  the  caresses,  but  she  was  ashamed  of 
and  stunned  by  her  defeat,  and  could  not  reconcile 
herself  to  it.  She  would  make  one  effort  more. 

"Since  you  will  not  permit  Mr.  Prentiss  to  re- 

325 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

monstrate  with  you,"  she  said,  "you  will,  at  least, 
talk  with  your  uncle?" 

Lucille  reflected.  She  had  not  forgotten  the 
diamond  tiara  with  which  her  uncle  had  presented 
her  as  a  wedding  present,  the  crowning  act  of 
many  splendid  donations,  though  to  have  only  one 
tiara  had  already  become  a  sign  of  relative  im- 
pecuniosity  in  the  social  circle  in  which  she  aspired 
to  move.  The  wife  of  a  genuine  multi-millionaire 
was  expected  to  have  as  many  tiaras  as  she  had 
evening  dresses.  Lucille  was  fond  of  her  uncle, 
and  she  still  wished  to  appear  what  she  considered 
reasonable.  "He  could  not  alter  my  determina 
tion,  mamma.  But  if  Uncle  Carleton  wishes  to 
talk  with  me,  I  shall  feel  bound  to  listen,"  she 
responded. 

Mrs.  Wilson  felt  encouraged  by  the  first  effect 
on  her  brother  of  the  announcement  of  Lucille's 
plans.  From  Paul's  report,  Mr.  Howard  had 
assumed  that  his  niece,  like  his  son,  was  simply  a 
victim  of  the  distressing  double-tragedy,  and  the 
news  of  Lucille's  projected  hasty  divorce  with  a 
view  to  immediate  remarriage  offended  his  sense 
of  propriety,  and  evoked  at  once  a  fiat  no  less  ex 
plicit  than  his  earlier  declaration  that  the  sooner 
Paul's  nuptial  knot  was  cut,  and  the  wretched  busi 
ness  terminated,  the  better.  His  present  words — 
that  such  indecorous  proceedings  were  not  to  be 
tolerated  for  a  moment — were  uttered  with  the  de 
liberate  emphasis  which  marked  his  important  ver 
dicts — his  railroad  manner,  some  people  called  it 
— and  conveyed  the  impression  of  a  reserve  force 
not  to  be  resisted  with  impunity.  The  interview 
between  him  and  Lucille  took  place  in  the  evening, 

326 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

and  lasted  nearly  an  hour.  Mrs.  Wilson  was  not 
present.  At  its  close  she  heard  her  daughter  re- 
enter  the  house  through  the  private  passageway 
and  go  up-stairs.  Shortly  after,  her  brother  joined 
her.  He  sat  for  a  few  moments  without  speaking, 
as  though  reviewing  what  had  occurred,  then  said, 
with  the  plausible  air  of  one  claiming  the  right  to 
revise  a  judgment  in  the  light  of  having  heard  the 
other  side  of  the  issue : 

"Apparently  we  have  to  decide  whether  we  pre 
fer  that  Lucille  should  marry  young  Nicholson  as 
soon  as  the  law  allows,  or  that  she  should  continue 
to  receive  his  marked  attentions,  which  have  al 
ready  inspired  compromising  rumors,  happily  base 
less.  It  seems  that  the  object  of  her  infatuation — 
a  circumstance  which  she  did  not  state  to  you — is 
anxious — in  fact,  hopes,  to  obtain  one  of  the  minor 
diplomatic  appointments.  His  father,  as  you 
know,  is  president  of  the  Chemical  Trust  and  in 
timate  with  some  of  the  influential  Senators. 
Should  I  intervene  in  his  behalf  with  the  authori 
ties  at  Washington,  the  probabilities  of  his  obtain 
ing  the  position,  already  excellent,  will  be  im 
proved,  provided,  of  course,  there  is  no  scandal. 
If  we  could  shut  Lucille  up — confine  her  by  sum 
mary  process  for  six  months,  until  she  had  time 
to  reflect — she  might  change  her  attitude.  At  any 
rate,  we  should  avoid  the  precipitancy  which  is  the 
most  objectionable  feature  of  the  affair.  But  the 
girl  is  a  free  agent.  We  cannot  prevent  her  from 
going  to  South  Dakota  if  she  insists,  and  she  does 
insist.  She  refuses  to  wait  the  three  years  requisite 
to  obtain  a  divorce  for  desertion  here;  and  were 
she  to  allege  what  the  newspapers  are  pleased  to 

327 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

call  the  statutory  offence,  the  proof  required  by 
our  court  would  be  exceedingly  painful.  She  pre 
fers  a  more  accommodating  jurisdiction,  where 
fewer  questions  are  asked,  and  the  tie  is  promptly 
dissolved.  So  on  the  whole " 

He  paused  to  choose  his  phraseology,  and  his 
sister,  guessing  its  substance,  interposed: 

"Then  you  sided  with  her?" 

"On  the  contrary,  I  opposed  her  strenuously. 
I  expressed  my  disapproval  in  positive  terms.  But 
it  became  evident  to  me  that  she  is  in  love  with 
this  young  man  and  determined  to  marry  him,  and 
from  every  point  of  view  I  prefer  the  sanction  of 
the  law  to  clandestine  illicit  relations.  Would  you 
prefer  to  have  her  abstain  from  a  divorce  and  live 
abroad  with  Bradbury  Nicholson?  That  is  what 
she  intimated  would  happen  if  she  followed  our 
wishes." 

Mrs.  Wilson  groaned.  "And  to  think  that  this 
is  the  reasoning  of  my  daughter!" 

"I  will  do  her  the  justice  to  say,"  continued  Mr. 
Howard,  joining  the  points  of  his  fingers,  "that  she 
talked  quietly  and  with  some  discrimination.  It 
troubles  her  greatly  that  you  are  distressed.  I 
disapprove  of  her  conduct,  but  I  was  pleased  on 
the  whole  with  her  mental  powers." 

"Yes.  She  is  cleverer  than  I  supposed,"  mur 
mured  Mrs.  Wilson.  "So  you  gave  in?" 

"Not  at  all.  We  agreed  to  differ.  I  presume 
you  did  not  wish  me  to  quarrel  with  her?" 

"Oh,  no.     We  must  never  do  that." 

"Exactly.  In  the  course  of  our  discussion  she 
asked  me  if  I  thought  she  ought  to  remain  a  widow 

328 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

all  her  days,  and,  as  a  reasonable  human  being,  I 
was  obliged  to  admit  that  there  was  much  to  be 
said  on  her  side." 

"A  widow !    She  is  not  a  widow." 

"She  chose  the  word,  not  I.  She  tells  me  that 
you  have  already  discussed  with  her  the  religious 
— the  sentimental  side  of  the  question." 

"And  failed  utterly." 

There  was  a  silence,  which  was  broken  by  the 
banker.  "I  advise  you,  Miriam,  to  make  the  best 
of  a  painful  situation.  There  are  only  two  courses 
open :  to  disown  her,  or  to  let  her  follow  her  own 
course,  and  put  the  best  front  on  it  we  can.  After 
all,  she  is  only  doing  what  thousands  of  other 
women  in  this  country " 

"Ah,  yes  !"  cried  Mrs.  Wilson.  "And  with  that 
argument  what  becomes  of  noble  standards — of 
fine  ideals  of  life?  I  almost  wish  I  had  the  moral 
courage  to  show  myself  the  Spartan  mother,  and 
to  disown  her." 

"Oh,  no,  you  don't.  You  would  only  make 
yourself  miserable."  Having  discovered  that  he 
had  been  checkmated,  it  was  a  business  maxim  with 
Mr.  Howard  to  accept  the  inevitable  and  clear  the 
board  of  vain  regrets.  He  set  himself  to  counter 
act  these  hysterical  manifestations  of  his  sister. 
"Besides,  it  would  do  no  good  in  this  case  to  cut 
off  the  revenue,  for  Nicholson  has  plenty  for  them 
both.  To  disinherit  one's  children  is  an  antiquated 
method  of  self-torture." 

"I  had  no  reference  to  money,"  answered  Mrs. 
Wilson,  with  a  gesture  to  express  disdain  for  the 
consideration.  "I  was  thinking  of  my  love  as  a 
mother." 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"You  cannot  help  loving  her,  whatever  hap 
pens,"  answered  her  brother  significantly. 

Mrs.  Wilson  acknowledged  the  force  of  this 
comment  by  a  piteous  stare.  She  forsook  the  per 
sonal  for  the  philosophic  attitude.  "But  if  this 
loose  view  of  the  marriage  tie  is  to  obtain,  where 
is  it  to  end?  How  long  will  it  be  before  we  imi 
tate  the  degeneracy  of  Rome?  We  are  imitating 
it  already." 

"I  made  a  similar  remark  to  Lucille.  I  re 
minded  her  that  the  ease  and  frequency  of  divorce 
were  among  the  causes  of  the  decline  of  Rome. 
Her  reply  was  that  we  are  Americans,  not  Ro 
mans.  Of  course,  there  is  something  in  what  she 
says.  Our  point  of  view  is  very  different  from 
theirs."  Mr.  Howard  felt  of  his  strong  chin  medi 
tatively. 

"But  where  is  it  to  end?"  repeated  Mrs.  Wilson 
in  a  tragic  tone. 

He  shook  his  head.  "It  is  an  abuse,  I  admit; 
especially  as  administered  in  some  of  our  States. 
Presently,  when  we  get  time,  we  Americans  will 
take  the  question  up  and  go  into  it  thoroughly." 

The  hopeless  incongruity  of  this  reply  from 
Mrs.  Wilson's  point  of  view  put  the  finishing 
touch  to  their  conversation.  It  was  obvious  to  her 
that  she  could  not  expect  true  sympathy  or  com 
prehension  from  her  brother.  It  was  clear  that  he 
was  satisfied  with  opportunist  methods,  and  that 
the  precise  truth  had  no  immediate  charms  for  him. 

Rebuffed  in  respect  to  the  support  of  both  her 
champions,  Mrs.  Wilson  felt  strangely  powerless; 
almost  limp.  She  made  no  further  appeal  to  her 
daughter;  the  discussion  was  not  resumed,  but 

330 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

when  the  baby  arrived,  she  reminded  Lucille  of  the 
proposal  that  she  keep  possession  of  her  grand 
child  during  its  mother's  sojourn  in  South  Dakota, 
and  accepted  it.  This  was  some  comfort,  and 
Mrs.  Wilson  remained  in  a  trance,  as  it  were,  seek 
ing  neither  sympathy  nor  outside  suggestion  until 
after  the  evil  day  of  Mrs.  Waldo's  departure. 

Not  until  then  did  she  send  for  Mr.  Prentiss. 
That  the  rector  could  do  nothing  to  thwart  the 
programme  outlined  by  Lucille  was  clear,  and  she 
had  dreaded  the  possibility  of  his  advising  an  atti 
tude  on  her  part  which  would  induce  complete 
estrangement  from  her  daughter.  When  he  came 
she  was  relieved  that  he  made  no  such  suggestion. 
He  seemed,  like  herself,  overwhelmed  with  dis 
may,  and,  after  he  had  heard  her  story,  equally 
conscious  of  helplessness  in  the  premises.  Indeed 
it  resulted  that  Mr.  Prentiss,  having  realized  that 
he  could  be  of  no  avail  in  the  particular  emergency, 
turned  from  the  shocking  present  to  the  future. 
Lucille  was  beyond  the  pale  of  influence  (though 
he  declared  his  intention  of  writing  to  her),  but 
this  painful  example  would  be  a  fresh  spur  to  the 
church  to  take  strong  ground  against  the  deadly 
peril  to  Christian  civilization  involved  in  playing 
fast  and  loose  with  the  marriage  tie.  Mr.  Prentiss 
glowed  with  the  thought  of  what  he  could  and 
would  put  into  a  sermon.  Consciousness  of  the 
abuse  had  for  some  time  been  smouldering  in  his 
mind,  and  he  reflected  that  it  was  time  for  him  to 
imitate  the  example  of  other  leaders  of  his  sect  by 
undertaking  a  crusade  against  indiscriminate  di 
vorce.  Appalled  as  he  was  by  the  behavior  of  his 
friend's  daughter,  he  reverted — but  not  aloud — to 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

his  previous  opinion  that  it  had  been  a  godless 
marriage.  Hence  there  was  less  occasion  for  sur 
prise,  and  the  instance  in  question  lost  some  of  its 
pathos  as  a  consequence.  But  it  provided  him  with 
a  terrible  incentive  for  saving  others  from  the  pit 
fall  which  had  engulfed  this  self-sufficient  and 
worldly  minded  young  woman.  His  zeal  com 
municated  itself  to  Mrs.  Wilson — for  he  did  not 
fail  in  due  manifestation  of  personal  sympathy — 
and  when  he  left  her  at  the  end  of  a  visit  of  two 
hours  her  favorite  impulse  toward  social  reform 
was  already  acting  as  a  palliative  to  her  anguish 
and  disappointment  as  a  mother. 

A  few  days  later  her  brother  informed  her  that 
Paul's  wife  had  refused  to  wait  the  three  years 
necessary  to  entitle  the  one  or  other  of  them 
to  institute  dignified  divorce  proceedings,  on  the 
ground  of  desertion,  in  the  State  where  her  hus 
band  had  his  domicile,  and  that  she  had  gone  to 
Nebraska  to  pursue  her  own  remedy.  Mr.  How 
ard,  though  obviously  disgusted,  finally  dismissed 
the  matter  with  a  sweep  of  his  hand,  and 
the  utterance,  "I  guess,  on  the  whole,  the  sooner 
he  is  rid  of  her  the  better."  But  this  apothegm, 
which  for  a  second  time  did  him  service,  only  in 
creased  his  sister's  dejection.  The  disgrace  of  the 
family  seemed  to  stare  her  in  the  face  more  potent 
ly  than  ever.  Following  within  a  few  weeks  of  this 
information  came  the  disclosures  in  the  newspapers 
of  the  double  divorce  with  their  sensational  innuen 
does  as  to  what  had  occurred  at  Newport.  For 
three  days  she  kept  the  house,  too  sick  at  heart  to 
attempt  to  simulate  in  public  the  veneer  of  an  un 
ruffled  countenance.  Then  she  visited  Gordon  Per- 

332 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ry's  office,  and  consulted  him  as  to  the  feasibility  of 
putting  some  legal  obstacle  in  the  way  of  her 
daughter's  procedure;  but  learned  from  him,  as  she 
had  feared,  that  she  was  powerless.  When  she  re 
sumed  her  ordinary  avocations  she  feared  lest  the 
shame  she  felt  should  mantle  her  cheek  and  impair 
the  varnish  of  well-bred  serenity.  It  was  while 
she  was  in  this  frame  of  mind  that  she  was  accosted 
by  Loretta,  and  the  effect  of  the  bald  remarks  was 
as  though  someone  had  invaded  her  bosom  with 
a  rude  cold  hand.  They  froze  her  to  the  marrow, 
and  while,  on  second  thought,  she  ascribed  the  lib 
erty  to  ignorance,  she  felt  disappointed  at  the  evo 
lution  of  her  ward.  Such  lack  of  delicacy,  such 
inability  to  appreciate  the  vested  rights  of  the  soul 
argued  ill  for  Loretta's  progress  in  refinement. 
There  was  no  second  invasion  of  Mrs.  Wilson's 
privacy.  It  seemed  to  her,  as  the  days  passed,  that 
she  had  been  through  a  crushing  illness,  and  she 
felt  the  mental  lassitude  of  slow  convalescence. 
The  receipt  of  Mrs.  Stuart's  brief  letter  informing 
her  that  she  had  been  injured  and  was  in  need  of 
counsel  was  a  sudden  reminder  that  she  had  al 
lowed  her  personal  sorrow  to  render  her  selfishly 
heedless  of  all  else.  It  served  as  the  needed  tonic 
to  her  system.  She  swept  away  the  cobwebs  of  de 
pression  from  her  brain,  and  with  a  firm  purpose 
to  resume  her  place  in  the  world  despatched  forth 
with  a  sympathetic  note  and  two  bunches  of  choice 
grapes  to  the  invalid,  and  on  the  following  morn 
ing  gave  orders  to  her  coachman  to  drive  her  to 
Lincoln  Chambers. 


333 


XX 

THE  sight  of  Constance's  colored  glasses 
stirred  Mrs.  Wilson's  sensibilities,  already 
on  edge. 

"You  poor  child!"  she  exclaimed,  advancing 
with  emotional  eagerness,  as  the  culmination  of 
which  she  drew  the  young  woman  toward  her  and 
kissed  her.  This  was  a  touch  of  bounty  beyond 
Mrs.  Wilson's  ordinary  reserve,  but  in  bestowing 
it  she  was  conscious  that  the  recipient  had  deserved 
it,  and  consequently  she  was  pleased  at  having 
yielded  to  the  impulse.  Besides  having  noticed 
with  satisfaction  the  gradual  change  in  Constance's 
appearance — both  her  increasing  comeliness  and 
tasteful  adaptiveness  in  respect  to  dress — it  dis 
tressed  her  that  her  ward's  charm  should  be 
marred  by  so  unaesthetic  an  accompaniment. 

"What  does  this  mean?  What  grisly  thing  has 
happened?" 

Constance  was  touched  by  the  embrace.  She 
had  passed  a  sleepless  night  confronting  her  ex 
citing  problem.  Already  this  morning  she  had 
listened  to  the  passages  in  those  chapters  of  the 
first  three  gospels,  Matthew  xix,  Mark  x  and  Luke 
xvi,  in  which  are  set  forth  Christ's  doctrine  con 
cerning  divorce  and  remarriage.  As  soon  as  the 
children  had  gone  to  school,  she  had  taken  her 
concordance  of  the  Bible  from  the  shelf,  and  heed 
less  of  Mrs.  Harrity's  wonder,  had  pressed  the  old 

334 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

woman  into  service  to  find  and  read  to  her  the 
texts  in  question.  Constance  had  not  considered 
these  for  years,  and  had  only  a  general  remem 
brance  of  their  phraseology,  but  in  the  watches  of 
the  night  her  thoughts  had  turned  to  them  as  tra 
ditional  spiritual  sign-posts  with  which  she  must 
familiarize  herself  forthwith.  Just  before  Mrs. 
Wilson's  entrance  she  had  taken  up  her  broom, 
hoping  that,  while  she  performed  her  necessary 
housework,  she  might  thresh  out  the  truth  from 
her  bundle  of  doubts.  What  if  the  truth  meant 
the  sacrifice  of  bright,  alluring  prospects  for  her 
children,  and  of  her  own  new,  great  happiness? 
Could  it  then  be  the  truth?  More  than  ever  did 
she  feel  the  need  of  counsel  and  sympathy.  At  the 
appearance  of  her  benefactress  her  pulses  bounded, 
and  the  appeal  in  her  glad  greeting  doubtless  gave 
a  cue  to  the  visitor's  initiative.  The  gracious  kiss 
on  her  cheek,  so  unexpected  and  so  grateful,  added 
the  finishing  touch  to  her  overstrained  nerves,  and 
she  burst  into  tears. 

Mrs.  Wilson  folded  her  in  her  arms  and  en 
couraged  her  to  sob.  Such  philanthropy  seemed 
to  bless  the  giver  no  less  than  the  receiver.  She 
had  arrived  in  the  nick  of  time  to  be  of  service. 

"There,  there,"  she  said,  "you  are  suffering; 
you  should  be  in  bed.  You  must  tell  me  presently 
everything,  and  I  will  send  my  own  doctor  to  pre 
scribe  for  you."  So,  presuming  the  cause  of  this 
distress,  she  stroked  the  back  of  Constance's  hair 
and  held  her  soothingly. 

For  some  moments  Constance  made  no  attempt 
to  check  her  convulsive  mood,  but  with  her  head 
bowed  on  the  friendly  shoulder  wept  hysterically. 

335 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

When  the  reaction  came  she  drew  back  dismayed 
at  having  lost  her  self-control,  and  as  she  wiped 
away  her  tears  and  hastily  regained  her  ordinary 
dignity  of  spirit,  exclaimed,  "It  isn't  that.  I  have 
been  in  bed — I  had  a  fall  in  the  street;  but  I  am 
quite  strong  again  except  for  my  eyes.  I  am  for 
bidden  to  use  them  for  six  months.  But  otherwise 
I  am  as  well  as  ever.  And  I  have  had  a  competent 
doctor." 

"Not  use  your  eyes  for  six  months?" 

There  was  incredulity  no  less  than  horror  in 
Mrs.  Wilson's  tone.  Constance  was  herself  again 
by  this  time.  She  made  her  visitor  sit  down,  and 
she  succinctly  described  the  circumstances  of  the 
accident  and  the  specialist's  examination,  so  that 
the  authenticity  of  his  verdict  and  the  reality  of 
her  predicament  were  patent.  Mrs.  Wilson  rose 
gladly  and  promptly  to  what  seemed  to  her  the 
occasion. 

"You  poor  child.  It  is  cruel — disastrous.  But 
give  yourself  no  concern.  I  shall  claim  my  pre 
rogative  as  a  warm  friend  to  see  that  you  and 
yours  do  not  suffer  until  the  time  when  you  are 
able  to  resume  your  regular  work.  Your  em 
ployer,  Mr.  Perry,  what  has  he  said  to  this?  His 
necessities  oblige  him  to  let  you  go,  I  dare  say." 

"On  the  contrary,  he  has  been  kindness  itself. 
He  wished  me  to  remain;  he  would  have  invented 
occupation  for  me.  Then  I  wrote  to  you  and  Mr. 
Prentiss.  It  occurred  to  me  that  you  might  think 
of  something  genuine  which  I  could  do  for  a  living 
until  I  could  use  my  eyes."  Constance  paused. 
Her  heart  was  in  her  mouth  again  at  the  approach 
of  the  impending  revelation. 

336 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Leave  it  all  to  me.  There  will  not  be  the 
slightest  difficulty.  I  will  find  just  the  thing." 
Then,  suspecting  that  Constance's  troubled  look 
was  due  to  suspicion  of  this  blithe  generality, 
Mrs.  Wilson  bent  forward  and  added  beseech 
ingly,  "You  will  let  me  help  you  this  time,  won't 
you?" 

"Indeed  I  will — if — if  you  wish,"  answered 
Constance  with  a  sweet  smile.  So  at  this  heart-to- 
heart  appeal  she  stripped  herself  of  her  pride  as 
of  a  superfluous  garment  and  cast  it  from  her. 
Then  she  said,  "You  don't  understand.  Every 
thing  has  changed  since  I  wrote  to  you  yesterday 
afternoon.  I  need  your  help,  your  advice,  Mrs. 
Wilson,  more  than  I  ever  needed  it  before.  You 
do  not  know  how  thankful  I  was  when  I  saw  you 
at  the  door.  I  have  been  trying  to  bring  myself 
to  the  point  ever  since.  I  think  I  can  talk  com 
posedly  now.  Last  evening  my  employer,  Mr. 
Gordon  Perry,  asked  me  to  become  his  wife." 

The  instinctive  thrill  which  the  disclosure  of 
unsuspected  romance  inspires  in  every  woman 
seized  Mrs.  Wilson,  and  with  it  swift  realization 
of  what  a  piece  of  good  fortune  from  every  point 
of  view  had  befallen  her  deserving  ward.  Con 
stance's  tears  and  need  for  counsel  suggested  but 
one  thing,  a  situation  old  as  the  hills,  but  like  them 
always  interesting.  Jumping  at  this  hypothesis, 
Mrs.  Wilson,  eager  to  show  that  she  had  compre 
hended  in  a  flash,  responded,  "And  you  do  not 
love  him?" 

"That  is  the  pity  of  it;  I  love  him  with  all  my 
heart." 

Then  Mrs.  Wilson  remembered.-    She  had  been 

337 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

so  accustomed  to  think  of  Constance  as  alone  in 
the  world,  that  in  the  first  glow  of  interest  she  had 
overlooked  the  crucial  fact  in  the  case.  The  recol 
lection  of  it  was  disconcerting  in  a  double  sense, 
for  she  suddenly  found  herself  confronting  the 
same  dire  problem  from  the  haunting  considera 
tion  of  which  she  had  just  emerged.  But  though 
her  first  resulting  emotion  was  similar  to  that 
which  one  feels  at  re-encountering  an  obnoxious 
acquaintance,  from  whom  one  has  escaped,  that 
which  followed  was  a  sense  of  contrast  between 
the  two  points  of  view  presented  by  the  separate 
situations,  which  culminated  in  the  animating 
thought  that  here  at  last  was  a  soul  alive  to  its 
own  responsibilities.  Meanwhile  she  heard  Con 
stance  say  by  way  of  interpretation : 

"My  husband  is  still  living  so  far  as  I  know, 
and  I  have  never  been  divorced  from  him." 

Mrs.  Wilson  put  up  her  hand.  "I  know,  I 
know,  my  dear.  Pardon  the  momentary  lapse.  I 
am  entirely  aware  of  your  circumstances.  And 
there  is  no  need,  Constance,  to  explain  anything. 
Believe  me,  I  appreciate  all;  I  understand  the 
meaning  of  your  agitation,  I  recognize  the  lumin 
ous  reality  of  the  issue  with  which  you  have  been 
brought  face  to  face." 

Constance  drew  a  deep  breath.  It  was  a  relief 
to  her  to  be  spared  preliminaries  and  to  pass  di 
rectly  to  the  vital  question. 

"It  would  mean  so  much  for  my  children." 

To  Mrs.  Wilson's  ear  the  simple  words  were 
imbued  with  a  plaintive  but  courageous  sadness, 
suggesting  that  the  speaker  was  already  conscious 
that  this  plea  'for  her  own  flesh  and  blood,  al- 

338 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

though  the  most  convincing  she  could  utter,  fell 
short  of  justification. 

"It  would." 

Constance  ignored  if  she  observed  the  laconic 
intensity  of  the  acquiescence.  She  was  bent  on 
setting  forth  the  argument  with  more  color,  so  she 
continued : 

"If  I  become  Mr.  Perry's  wife,  my  children's 
future  is  assured.  My  son  will  be  able  to  acquire 
a  thorough  education  in  art;  my  daughter,  instead 
of  being  obliged  to  earn  her  living  before  she  is 
mature,  will  have  leisure  to  cultivate  refinement. 
They  would  become  members  of  a  different  social 
class.  I  need  not  explain  to  you,  Mrs.  Wilson, 
for  it  is  from  you  that  I  have  learned  the  value 
and  the  power  of  beauty.  I  covet  for  them 
the  chance  to  gain  appreciation  of  what  is  in 
spiring  and  beautiful  in  life,  so  that  they  need 
not  be  handicapped  by  ignorance  as  I  have 
been." 

No  other  appeal  so  well  adapted  to  engage  her 
listener's  sympathies  could  have  been  devised  by  a 
practical  schemer.  And  the  obvious  ingenuousness 
of  the  almost  nai've  statement  increased  the  force 
of  it,  for  like  the  woman  herself  the  plea  stood  out 
in  simple  relief  impressive  through  its  very  lack 
of  circumlocution  and  sophistry.  Except  for  the 
church's  ban  a  new  marriage  seemed  the  most  de 
sirable — the  most  natural  thing  for  this  sympa 
thetic  woman  in  the  heyday  of  feminine  maturity 
and  usefulness.  Mrs.  Wilson  felt  the  blood  rush 
to  her  face  as  the  currents  of  religious  and  aesthetic 
interest  collided.  Her  brain  was  staggered  for  a 
moment. 

339 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Oh",  yes.  I  am  sure  you  do,"  she  murmured. 
"But " 

Her  utterance  was  largely  mechanical  and  the 
pause  betrayed  the  temporary  equilibrium  of  con 
tending  forces.  But  Constance  received  the  quali 
fying  conjunction  as  a  warning  note. 

"There  is  a  'but/  an  unequivocal  'but/  That 
is  why  I  wish  to  consult  you.  I  need  your  help. 
There  is  something  more  to  add,  though,  first. 
Marriage  with  Gordon  Perry  would  freshen, 
sweeten  my  life,  and  make  a  new  woman  of  me. 
He  is  the  finest  man  I  have  ever  known."  She 
spoke  the  last  sentence  with  heightend  emphasis, 
plainly  glorying  in  the  avowal.  "The  simple  ques 
tion  is,  must  I — is  it  my  duty,  to  renounce  all  this  ? 
I  ask  you  to  tell  me  the  truth." 

"The  truth?"  Mrs.  Wilson  echoed  the  words 
still  in  a  maze.  Yet  the  clew  was  already  in  her 
grasp,  and  she  delayed  following  it  only  because 
the  greatness  of  the  responsibility,  precious  as  it 
was  to  her,  kept  her  senses  vibrant.  At  length  she 
said  with  emotion  : 

"This  is  a  strange  coincidence,  Constance.  I 
have  been  face  to  face  with  this  same  issue  for  the 
past  fortnight.  My  daughter  has  begun  divorce 
proceedings  against  her  husband  in  order  to  marry 
again.  They  simply  were  tired  of  each  other;  that 
is  the  true,  flippant  reason  they  are  separating. 
Each  is  to  marry  someone  else.  Her  light  view 
of  the  marriage  relation  has  almost  broken  my 
heart.  And  what  is  to  blame  ?  The  low  standard 
of  society  in  respect  to  the  sacredness  of  the  mar 
riage  tie.  I  endeavored  with  all  my  soul  to  dis 
suade  her,  but  in  vain.  I  come  from  her  to  you. 

340 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

The  circumstances  of  your  two  lives  are  very  differ 
ent,  but  is  not  the  principle  involved  the  same? 
My  dear,  if  Lucille — my  daughter — could  have 
seen  the  question  as  you  see  it,  I  should  have  been 
a  happy  mother.  You  ask  my  opinion.  I  recog 
nize  the  solemnity  of  the  trust.  A  blissful  future 
is  before  you  if  you  marry,  welfare  for  your  chil 
dren  and  yourself.  But  in  the  other  scale  of  the 
balance  are  the  eternal  verities,  the  duty  one  owes 
to  society,  the  fealty  one  owes  to  Christ.  You 
spoke  of  beauty.  The  most  beautiful  life  of  all  is 
that  which  embraces  renunciation  for  a  great  cause, 
even  at  the  cost  of  the  most  alluring  human  joys 
and  privileges." 

Gaining  in  fluency  as  she  proceeded,  because 
more  and  more  enamoured  of  the  cruel  necessity 
of  the  sacrifice,  Mrs.  Wilson  poured  into  these  con 
cluding  words  all  the  intensity  of  her  nature.  She 
would  gladly  have  fallen  on  her  knees  and  joined 
in  ecstatic  prayer  with  the  victim  had  the  demeanor 
of  the  latter  given  her  the  chance.  Her  heart  was 
full  of  admiration  and  of  pity  for  Constance  and 
also  of  solicitude  for  the  triumph  of  a  human  soul 
in  behalf  of  an  ideality  which  was  at  the  same 
time  the  highest  social  wisdom.  If  for  a  moment 
her  modern  mind  had  revolted  at  the  sternness  of 
the  sacrifice  demanded,  she  was  now  spellbound  by 
the  shibboleth  which  meditation  on  her  late  experi 
ence  had  reaffirmed  on  her  lips  as  a  rallying  cry, 
the  safety  of  the  home. 

"You  cannot  be  ignorant,"  she  exclaimed  in 
another  burst  of  expression,  that  the  stability  of 
the  family — the  greatest  safeguard  of  civiliza 
tion — is  threatened.  What  is  the  happiness  of 

341 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

the  individual  compared  with  the  welfare  of  all? 
In  this  day  of  easy  divorces  and  quick  remarriages 
is  it  not  your  duty  to  heed  the  teaching  of  the 
Christian  Church,  which  stands  as  the  champion 
of  the  sacrament  of  marriage?" 

Constance's  mien  during  the  delivery  of  this  ex 
hortation  suggested  that  of  a  prisoner  of  war 
listening  to  sentence  of  death,  one  who  yearned  to 
live,  but  who  was  trying  already  to  derive  comfort 
from  the  consequent  glory;  yet  a  prisoner,  too, 
who  clung  to  life  and  who  was  not  prepared  to 
accept  his  doom,  however  splendid,  without  ex 
hausting  every  possibility  of  escape.  Though  her 
face  reflected  spiritual  appreciation  of  the  great 
opportunity  for  service  held  out  to  her,  and  her 
nostrils  quivered,  her  almost  dauntless  and  obvi 
ously  critical  brow  offered  no  encouragement  to 
Mrs.  Wilson's  hope  of  a  tumultuous  quick  sur 
render.  She  listened,  weighing  impartially  the 
value  of  every  word.  But  suddenly  at  the  final 
sentences  she  quivered,  as  though  they  had  pierced 
the  armor  of  her  suspended  judgment,  and  inflicted 
a  mortal  wound. 

"Would  the  church  demand  it  absolutely?"  she 
asked  after  a  moment. 

"Our  church  forbids  remarriage  except  in  case 
of  divorce  for  adultery  granted  to  the  innocent 
party.  The  language  of  Christ  in  the  gospel  of 
Matthew  seems  to  sanction  this  exception,  con 
trary  to  His  teaching  as  expressed  in  the  other 
gospels.  But  there  are  many  who  maintain  with 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church  that  the  marriage  tie 
can  be  dissolved  only  by  death." 

"I  know.    I  had  them  read  to  me  this  morning." 

342 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Though  Mrs.  Wilson  regarded  herself  as  a 
liberal  constructionist  of  scriptural  texts,  and  as  in 
sympathy  with  the  priests  of  her  faith  who  glossed 
over  or  ignored  biblical  language  justifying  out 
worn  philosophy,  she  was  glad  now  of  the  support 
of  the  letter  of  the  Christian  law  for  the  great 
social  principal  involved.  Divining  by  intuition 
what  was  working  in  the  struggler's  mind,  and 
ever  on  the  watch  to  satisfy  her  own  standard  as 
regards  modern  progressiveness  of  vision,  she 
ventured  this : 

"Though  the  words  of  Christ  seem  far  away — 
though  His  world  was  very  different  from  ours, 
as  perhaps  you  were  thinking,  the  human  needs  of 
to-day  are  a  grand  and  unanswerable  vindication 
of  His  teachings  and  of  the  church's  canon." 

Constance  looked  up  wonderingly.  Was  she 
dealing  with  a  seer? 

"I  was  thinking  that  very  thing,  that  the 
Saviour's  words  seem  so  far  away,  perhaps  He 
did  not  anticipate  such  a  case  as  mine." 

"He  invites  you  to  suffer  for  His  sake  even  as 
He  did  for  yours." 

Mrs.  Wilson  had  heard  the  doctrine  of  the 
atonement  criticised  as  outworn,  and  she  was  by  no 
means  sure  in  her  heart  that  it  would  survive  the 
processes  of  religious  evolution;  yet  she  felt  no 
scruples  in  proffering  this  cup  of  inspiration  to  a 
thirsty  and  not  altogether  sophisticated  spirit. 

Constance's  lip  trembled.  UI  neglected  once  to 
heed  the  voice  of  the  church.  I  strayed  away  from 
Christ.  When  I  was  in  trouble  the  church  sought 
me  out,  helped  me  and  took  me  back." 

"I  remember.     Mr.  Prentiss  has  told  me." 

343 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Would  Mr.   Prentiss  consent  to  marry  me?" 

"He  could  not  perform  the  service;  he  is  for 
bidden.  You  could  be  married  only  by  some 
clergyman  of  another  sect,  if  one  would  consent, 
or  before  a  justice  of  the  peace." 

It  was  evident  from  her  tone  that  Mrs.  Wilson 
classed  the  civil  ceremony  with  the  ugly  things  of 
life. 

"I  see,"  said  Constance.  "I  feared  that  he 
would  not — that  he  could  not."  She  sat  for  some 
moments  with  her  hands  clasped  before  her  staring 
at  destiny.  Then  spurred  by  one  of  the  voices  of 
protest  she  cried  like  one  deploring  an  inevitable 
deed,  "Gordon  will  not  understand.  He  will  deem 
that  I  am  flying  in  the  face  of  reason  and  sacri 
ficing  our  and  the  children's  happiness  to  a  delu 
sion.  He  is  a  sane  and  conscientious  man.  He 
strives  to  do  what  is  right.  Is  it  common  sense 
that  I  must  give  him  up?"  she  asked  almost 
fiercely. 

Mrs.  Wilson  recognized  the  cry  as  the  flutter 
ing  of  a  spirit  resolved  to  conquer  temptation. 
"To  satisfy  common  sense  would  not  satisfy  you, 
Constance,"  she  answered  with  gentle  fervor. 
"What  you  desire  would  be  selfish;  what  the 
church  invites  you  to  do  for  the  sake  of  the  world, 
of  the  family,  would  be  spiritual." 

"I  wish  to  do  what  is  right  this  time  at  any 
cost." 

As  Constance  spoke  there  was  a  knock,  and  a 
moment  later  the  rector  of  St.  Stephen's  appeared 
in  the  doorway,  a  large,  impressive  figure.  For 
an  instant  he  stood  looking  to  right  and  left, 
taking  in  the  surroundings  while  the  two  women 

344 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

rose  to  greet  him,  and  Mrs.  Wilson  uttered  an 
eager  aside  to  Constance : 

"Here  is  someone  who  will  tell  you  what  is 
right." 

Perhaps  she  did  not  intend  to  smother  the  re 
mark.  At  all  events  it  was  overheard  by  Mr. 
Prentiss,  and  it  suggested  to  him  an  appropriate 
greeting. 

"I  know  of  few  better  qualified  to  decide  for 
herself  what  is  right  than  Mrs.  Stuart,"  he  ex 
claimed  with  sonorous  geniality,  advancing.  "I 
received  your  letter,  and  here  I  am.  I  am  glad 
to  see  that  another  friend  has  been  even  more 
prompt,"  he  added,  shaking  hands  with  Mrs. 
Wilson. 

"Yes,  I  wrote  to  you  both  that  I  had  been  ill 
because  I  felt  sure  that  you  would  be  willing  to 
advise  with  me  as  to  my  future,"  said  Constance. 

She  endeavored  to  take  the  clergyman's  silk 
hat,  but  he  urbanely  waved  her  back,  and,  depos 
iting  it  on  the  table,  threw  open  his  long  coat,  and 
squaring  himself  in  the  chair  offered  him  glanced 
around  the  somewhat  darkened  room. 

"Well,"  he  said,  with  cheery  solicitude,  "you 
must  tell  me  your  story." 

"Let  me  explain,  my  dear,"  interposed  Mrs. 
Wilson,  and  thereupon  she  glided  from  her  chair, 
and  seating  herself  on  the  sofa  beside  Constance, 
proceeded  to  enlighten  him.  "Our  young  friend 
has  had  a  painful  accident,"  she  began,  and  in  half 
a  dozen  graphic  sentences  she  informed  Mr.  Pren 
tiss  of  the  details  of  the  catastrophe  and  the  scope 
of  the  injury.  Meanwhile  she  possessed  herself 
of  Constance's  hand,  and  from  time  to  time  pat- 

345 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ted  it  softly  during  the  narration,  in  the  course  of 
which  the  rector  on  his  part  expressed  appropriate 
concern  for  the  victim. 

"When  Mrs.  Stuart  wrote,"  she  continued,  "it 
was  in  order  to  consult  us  as  to  how  she  might 
best  earn  her  livelihood  until  such  time  as  her 
eyesight  is  restored.  This  was  a  pressing  and  deli 
cate  consideration  for  the  reason  that  she  suspected 
her  employer  of  a  design  to  invent  occupation  for 
her  relief,  which  under  all  the  circumstances  was 
distasteful  to  her  pride.  The  particular  matter 
of  providing  her  with  suitable  means  of  support 
I  have  taken  upon  myself,  and  the  question  is  no 
longer  perplexing  her.  It  has  been  put  in  the 
shade  by  another  and  far  more  momentous  prob 
lem,  the  solution  of  which  we  have  been  discussing 
for  the  last  half  hour.  You  come  just  in  time  to 
give  her  the  benefit  of  your  abundant  insight  and 
experience.  'Since  she  wrote  to  you  an  unexpected 
and  appealing  event  has  come  to  pass.  Mrs. 
Stuart  has  received  an  offer  of  marriage  from  Mr. 
Perry,  her  employer,  who  of  course  is  aware  that 
she  still  has  a  husband  living  from  whom  she  has 
never  been  divorced." 

Mrs.  Wilson  designedly  threw  this  searchlight 
upon  the  past  history  of  her  ward  in  order  to  save 
her  rector  from  the  possibility  of  finding  himself 
in  the  same  slough  into  which  she  had  slipped  as  a 
result  of  inadvertence,  and  also  to  place  the  pre 
cise  situation  before  him  in  one  vivid  flash. 

Presumably  what  he  had  heard  was  a  stirring 
surprise  to  Mr.  Prentiss,  but  versed  in  receiving 
confessions  he  gave  no  sign  of  perturbation  beyond 
compressing  his  lips  and  settling  himself  further 

346 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

back  in  his  chair  like  one  seeking  to  get  his  grip 
on  an  interesting  theme.  When  Mrs.  Wilson  in 
bright-eyed  consciousness  of  having  sprung  a  sen 
sation  waited  to  enjoy  its  effect,  he  nodded,  as 
much  as  to  inform  her  that  he  had  grasped  the 
facts  and  that  she  might  proceed. 

She  fondled  Constance's  hand  for  a  little  before 
doing  so.  She  wished  to  come  to  the  point  di 
rectly,  yet  exhaustively;  to  avoid  non-essentials, 
yet  to  present  the  theme  with  picturesqueness. 

"This  little  woman's  heart  is  deeply  engaged," 
she  resumed.  "She  loves  dearly  the  man  who  has 
offered  himself  to  her.  His  wish  to  make  her  his 
wrfe  is  not  only  a  precious  compliment,  but  it  holds 
forth  interesting  opportunities  for  happiness  and 
advancement  for  her  and  for  her  two  children. 
He  is,  as  you  know,  a  man  of  high  standing  in 
the  community  with  prospects  of  distinction. 
From  the  point  of  view  of  worldly  blessedness  the 
offer  is  exceptionally  alluring.  Moreover  she 
would  be  a  wife  of  whom  he  could  be  justly  proud. 
You  see  what  I  mean.  I  have  given  you,  I  think, 
all  the  vital  data  which  bear  on  the  case."  As  she 
paused  she  noticed  that  Constance  stirred  beside 
her.  It  had  not  been  her  intention  to  proceed 
further,  but  she  made  this  clear  by  saying,  "I  leave 
the  rest  for  you,  my  dear." 

The  next  moment  the  rector  responded  with 
grave,  solicitous  emphasis.  "I  believe  that  I  recog 
nize  precisely  the  circumstances  with  all  the  in 
separable  perplexities  and  pathos." 

By  an  involuntary  restless  movement  Constance 
had  indeed  revealed  her  dread  that  Mrs.  Wilson 
was  about  to  state  the  arguments  as  well  as  the 

347 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

point  at  issue,  and  her  spirit  had  risen  in  protest. 
For  sitting  there  intent  on  every  word  she  had 
had  time  to  realize  that  a  crucial  moment  in  her 
life  had  arrived,  and  that  no  one  else  however 
clever  could  fitly  express  what  was  working  in  her 
mind  in  defence  of  her  lover's  cause.  When  now 
the  desired  chance  to  speak  was  afforded  her  there 
was  no  hesitation;  the  necessary  burning  question 
was  on  her  lips — the  one  question  which  demanded 
an  unequivocal  answer. 

"Mrs.  Wilson  has  stated  all  the  facts.  I  ask 
you,  Mr.  Prentiss,  to  tell  me  truly  if  it  is  possible 
for  me  to  marry  Mr.  Perry  without  doing  wrong, 
without  doing  what  you — the  church — would  not 
have  me  do.  I  am  ready  to  renounce  this  great 
happiness  if  it  would  not  be  right  in  the  highest 
sense  for  me  to  become  his  wife." 

It  was  the  rector's  turn  to  stir  uneasily.  His 
soul  was  rampant  over  the  horrors  of  the  divorce 
evil,  but  his  humanity  was  momentarily  touched 
by  the  rigor  of  this  particular  case.  He,  too,  had 
had  time  to  think,  and  his  opinion  was  already 
formed.  It  had  indeed  arisen  spontaneously  from 
the  depths  of  his  inner  consciousness  as  the  only 
possible  answer.  Yet  as  a  wrestler  with  modern 
social  problems  he  was  disturbed  to  perceive  that 
this  sacrifice  on  this  petitioner's  part  would  have 
the  surface  effect  of  a  hardship  which,  however 
salutary  as  a  tenet  of  Christian  doctrine,  was  not 
altogether  satisfactory  from  the  practical  stand 
point.  Consequently  his  reply  was  a  trifle  militant. 

Have  you  as  a  woman  considered  whether  re 
marriage  while  your  husband  is  alive  would  be 
consistent  with  the  highest  feminine  purity? 

348 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

It  was  a  specious  attack,  but  for  a  moment  Con 
stance  did  not  comprehend.  Then  when  it  came 
over  her  that  he  was  imposing  chastity  upon  her, 
and  expressing  surprise  at  her  restlessness,  she  low 
ered  her  eyes  instinctively.  That  phase  of  the  case 
had  occurred  to  her  many  times  already.  Was  it 
an  impurity  that  she,  with  a  husband  living,  should 
love  another  man?  Was  the  implied  reproach 
sound?  Her  feminine  self-respect  was  dearer  to 
her  than  life.  Yet  she  had  not  discussed  the  point 
with  Mrs.  Wilson,  as  exploration  with  the  plum 
met  of  conscience  of  the  recesses  of  her  womanly 
self  had  left  her  without  a  qualm.  She  had  even 
faced  the  repugnant  possibility  that,  as  the  wife  of 
Gordon,  she  might  hereafter  be  brought  in  con 
tact  with  Emil,  and  decided  that  it  could  not  be 
come  a  controlling  bugbear.  Yet  now  when  she 
raised  her  eyes  again  she  looked  first  at  her 
mentor.  That  lady  had  hers  turned  toward  the 
ceiling  in  rapt  meditation,  but  becoming  conscious 
of  Constance's  glance,  she  lowered  them  to  meet 
it,  and  Constance  gathered  from  their  troubled 
appeal  that  she  agreed  with  the  clergyman  that 
remarriage  for  her  would  be  incompatible  with 
the  highest  personal  delicacy  and  a  breach  of  the 
law  of  beauty.  This  was  almost  a  shock,  and  in 
creased  her  trouble.  Her  reason  was  still  uncon 
vinced  that  the  objection  was  other  than  an  affec 
tation,  but  the  joint  disapproval  was  a  challenge  to 
her  confidence.  Still  she  answered  with  the  courage 
of  her  convictions : 

"I  should  like  to  marry  because  I  am  in  love. 
If  my  husband  were  dead,  it  would  not  seem  inap 
propriate  that  I  should  wed  another." 

349 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"You  are  well  provided  for;  you  have  employ 
ment  and  are  earning  a  decent  livelihood.  You 
have  friends  who  will  see  that  your  children  do  not 
lack  opportunities  for  advancement.  Is  not  that 
enough?"  He  paused  and  quoted  rhetorically: 
"Wherefore  they  are  no  more  twain,  but  one 
flesh." 

Constance  broke  the  silence  by  completing  the 
passage  with  reverence,  "What  therefore  God  hath 
joined  together  let  not  man  put  asunder." 

"Precisely,"  murmured  the  rector. 

Constance  slipped  her  hand  from  Mrs.  Wilson's 
and  rose  to  her  feet.  Why,  she  scarcely  knew. 
She  felt  the  impulse  to  stand  before  her  judges, 
even  as  a  petitioner  at  a  court  of  final  resort. 
Though  her  heart  was  hungry  for  permission  to 
enter  the  land  of  promise,  she  already  guessed 
what  the  verdict  would  be.  If  her  rector's  hint 
that  the  project  ought  to  have  jarred  upon  her 
finer  feminine  instincts  had  left  her  unconvicted 
before  the  tribunal  of  her  own  wits,  it  had  set  her 
thinking.  It  had  brought  before  her  a  retrospec 
tive  vision  of  the  long  fealty  of  her  sex  to  the 
voice  of  carnal  purity,  and  its  twin  sister,  woman's 
long  fealty  to  the  church.  She  must  be  true  to 
her  birthright  as  a  woman;  she  must  obey  the 
higher  law  whatever  the  cost.  No  happiness  could 
be  comparable  to  that  which  obedience  would 
bring.  Yet  another  thought  held  her,  and  a  little 
doggedly.  Whatever  her  penitence  for  past  error, 
she  had  never  abdicated  her  heritage  as  an  Amer 
ican  woman — her  right  to  the  exercise  of  free  judg 
ment  where  the  interests  of  her  soul  were  con 
cerned.  Her  intelligence  must  be  satisfied  before 

350 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

she  yielded.  Yet  even  as  she  rallied  her  energies 
for  a  second  bout,  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  mem 
ory  of  her  late  forgiveness  by  the  church  stood  in 
the  guise  of  an  angel  at  the  rector's  side  with 
grieving  eyes,  and  the  charge  of  ingratitude  on  its 
lips.  But  Constance  said  sturdily  and  carefully: 

"I  have  reread  the  Bible  texts,  Mr.  Prentiss, 
and  Mrs.  Wilson  has  explained  to  me  that  as  a 
priest  of  the  Episcopal  Church  you  could  not 
marry  me.  I  understand  that.  What  I  wish  you 
to  tell  me  is  whether  it  would  be  a  sin,  a  real  sin, 
were  I  to  be  married  elsewhere.  The  law  allows 
it,  only  the  church  forbids.  Has  the  church  no 
discretion,  could  no  exception  be  made  in  a  case 
like  mine?  In  this  age  of  the  world  it  would  seem 
as  though  justice  and  the  demands  which  religion 
makes  on  the  conscience  ought  to  tally.  You 
know  the  circumstances  of  my  first  marriage.  Be 
cause  I  made  a  dreadful  mistake,  is  it  my  highest 
duty  to  renounce  this  happiness  as  a  forbidden 
thing?  It  is  for  you  to  tell  me.  I  must  trust  in 
you ;  I  cannot  decide  for  myself.  My  reason  whis 
pers  to  me  that  it  would  not  be  wrong  for  me  to 
consent,  but  I  am  prepared  to  put  this  seeming 
blessing  from  me  if  by  accepting  it  I  should  be 
guilty  of  a  genuine  weakness,  should  be  helping  to 
push  society  down  instead  of  helping  to  maintain 
the  standards  of  the  world." 

Mr.  Prentiss  beamed  upon  her  with  pitying, 
gracious  approval.  Now  that  he  had  recovered 
from  his  momentary  access  of  temper  he  beheld 
in  a  clear  light  the  reality  of  the  sacrifice,  her 
touching  sincerity  and  his  own  opportunity.  From 
the  standpoint  of  righteousness  there  was  no  room 

351 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

in  his  mind  for  doubt  or  evasion;  yet  he  felt  that 
it  behooved  him  to  meet  this  spiritual  conflict  with 
all  the  tenderness  of  his  priestly  office.  He  had 
learned  to  admire  this  lithe,  dark-haired  woman, 
nor  was  her  greater  physical  attraction  lost  on 
him.  He  realized  as  she  stood  before  him  that 
under  the  new  dispensation  she  had  waxed  in  charm 
and  social  effectiveness;  and  once  more  she  was 
showing  herself  worthy  of  his  enthusiasm.  His 
ear  had  noticed  the  felicity  of  her  last  thought, 
and  he  was  musing  on  the  sophisticated  scope 
of  it  when  Mrs.  Wilson's  dulcet  voice  broke  the 
silence. 

"I  have  made  clear  to  Mrs.  Stuart,  Mr.  Pren- 
tiss,  that  the  advanced  thought  of  the  church  finds 
in  the  words  of  Christ  not  merely  an  inspired 
utterance  concerning  divorce,  but  the  rallying  cry 
in  behalf  of  a  profound,  practical,  social  reform." 

The  rector  bent  on  his  ally  a  discerning  glance 
of  satisfaction.  He  perceived  gratefully  that  she 
had  made  the  most  of  her  opportunities  to  till  the 
soil  from  which  he  looked  for  a  rich  harvest. 

"My  dear  friend,"  he  said  to  Constance,  "you 
have  put  upon  me  a  great  responsibility  from 
which  I  must  not  shrink.  But  however  uncom 
promising  my  duty  as  a  servant  of  Christ  may 
cause  me  to  appear,  believe  me  that  my  under 
standing  is  not  blind  to  the  human  distress  under 
which  you  labor.  You  are  asked  to  renounce  what 
is  for  woman  the  greatest  of  temporal  joys,  the 
love  of  a  deserving  man."  He  paused  a  moment 
to  mark  the  fervor  of  his  sympathy.  "Were  I 
willing  to  palter  with  the  truth,  and  did  I  deem 
you  to  be  common  clay  unable  to  appreciate  and 

352 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

live  up  to  it,  I  might  say  to  you  'go  and  be  mar 
ried  elsewhere.  It  will  be  an  offence;  it  will  not 
have  the  sanction  of  the  church;  but  others  have 
done  the  same,  and  you  will  have  the  protection  of 
the  secular  law.'  Although  the  Roman  Catholic 
priest  has  but  one  answer  under  all  circumstances 
however  pitiful,  'who,  having  a  husband  or  wife 
living,  marries  again,  cannot  remain  a  member  of 
the  church,'  it  might  seem  permissible  to  some  of 
my  cloth  not  to  condemn  remarriage  in  the  case  of 
a  dense  soul  as  a  grievous  sin.  But  such  palliation 
would  sear  my  lips  were  I  to  utter  it  for  your  re 
lief.  You  have  asked  me  what  is  the  vital  truth — 
your  highest  Christian  duty.  There  can  be  but 
one  answer.  To  respect  the  marriage  bond  and, 
keeping  yourself  unspotted  from  the  world,  hold 
to  one  husband  for  your  mortal  life  so  long  as 
you  both  do  live.  To  yield  would  not  be  a  crime 
as  the  ignorant  know  crime,  but  it  would  be  a 
sapping  carnal  weakness,  inconsistent  with  the 
spiritual  wisdom  which  has  hitherto  led  you.  It 
would  indeed  help  to  lower  the  standards  of  hu 
man  society.  I  may  not  equivocate,  my  dear 
friend.  This  is  the  ideal  of  the  Christian  Church 
in  respect  to  marriage  and  divorce.  Invoke  the 
human  law  for  your  protection  against  your  hus 
band  if  you  will,  but  he  is  still  your  husband  in  the 
eyes  of  God,  and  if  you  wed  another  you  commit 
adultery." 

Constance,  seeming  like  a  breathing  statue,  save 
for  her  odd  disfigurement,  her  arms  before  her  at 
full  length,  her  hands  folded  one  upon  the  other, 
heard  her  sentence  and  love's  banishment.  Already 
she  felt  the  thrill  of  a  solemn  impulse  to  bear  this 

353 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

cross  laid  upon  her,  not  as  a  cross  but  as  a  fresh 
opportunity  for  service,  yet  she  said: 

"Then  the  law  of  the  church  and  the  law  of 
the  State  stand  opposed  to  each  other !"  She  spoke 
in  soliloquy  as  it  were,  phrasing  an  existing  condi 
tion  for  the  explanation  of  which  her  intelligence 
still  lacked  the  key. 

Mr.  Prentiss  drew  himself  up.  "Yes,  they  stand 
opposed,  as  in  so  many  other  instances.  The  law 
of  the  State  is  for  the  weak;  the  law  of  the  church 
— of  Christ — is  for  the  strong.  Verily  the  church 
has  been  magnanimous  and  forbearing.  It  has 
resigned  to  the  State  little  by  little  control  of  the 
social  machinery.  But  here,  where  the  founda 
tions  of  society  are  at  stake,  it  behooves  her  to 
stand  firm.  The  law  of  spirit  is  at  war  with  the 
law  of  flesh.  Monogamy  is  the  corner-stone  of 
Christian  civilization." 

"And  hence  it  is  that  marriage  is  a  sacrament; 
that  the  marriage  bond  bears  the  seal  of  heaven," 
added  Mrs.  Wilson  ardently,  as  the  rector,  con 
tented  with  his  metaphor,  stopped  short  in  his 
righteous  foray. 

"If  my  marriage  was  made  in  heaven,  we  were 
ill-mated,"  retorted  Constance.  The  thought 
seemed  so  repugnant  to  her  that  she  revolted  at 
it.  But  Mr.  Prentiss,  like  a  true  physician  of  the 
soul,  was  equal  to  the  emergency. 

"The  choice  was  yours,  and  you  made  a  dread 
ful  mistake.  Have  you  yourself  not  said  so?  Shall 
you  not  pay  the  penalty,  my  daughter?  You 
thought  you  knew  him  whom  you  married." 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed;  but  I  was  very  young." 

"May  they  not  all  say  the  same?      And  yet," 

354 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

pursued  the  rector,  in  a  tone  of  proselytizing  tri 
umph,  "the  demon  of  divorce  lurks  at  our  firesides 
and,  stalking  through  every  walk  of  life,  makes 
light  of  the  holy  tie  as  though  it  were  of  straw, 
mocking  the  solemn  associations  of  the  family,  and 
taking  from  the  innocent  child  the  refining  and 
safe-guarding  influence  of  a  stable,  unsullied  home. 
Yet  the  State  stands  by  and  winks  at — aye,  con 
nives  at  and  promotes  the  foul  programme,  re 
habilitating  shallowness  and  vice  through  the  re 
spectable  red  seal  of  the  law.  Yes,  there  are  two 
standards.  As  a  modern  priest  I  am  aware  of  the 
sophistry  of  the  criticism,  for  who,  if  the  church 
does  not,  will  stand  as  the  protector  of  the  home? 
And  if  it  sometimes  happens,  as  it  must  happen/* 
he  concluded  in  an  exalted  whisper,  "that  the  ap 
parent  earthly  happiness  of  one  must  be  sacrificed 
for  the  good  of  the  many,  I  know  that  you  are  not 
the  woman  to  falter." 

4 'Oh,  no — oh,  no,"  answered  Constance,  shak 
ing  her  head.  "It  is  a  terrible  condition  of  affairs, 
is  it  not?  I  see;  I  understand."  She  resumed  her 
seat  on  the  sofa  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands.  For  a  few  moments  there  was  silence. 
Mrs.  Wilson  restrained  a  melting  impulse  to  put 
her  arm  around  her  ward's  shoulder  in  pitying 
encouragement.  She  felt  that  it  was  wiser  to 
wait. 

"Terrible,"  repeated  Constance,  as  though  she 
had  been  dwelling  on  the  thought,  and  she  looked 
up.  Her  manner  was  calm  and  sweetly  deter 
mined.  "Thank  you,  Mr.  Prentiss — thank  you 
both  so  much.  There  is  only  one  thing  to  do — 
one  thing  I  wish  to  do,  now  that  my  duty  has  been 

355 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

made  entirely  plain.  I  shall  tell  Mr.  Perry  that 
though  I  love  him  I  cannot  marry  him." 

"There  is  no  reason  that  you  should  come  to  a 
decision  on  the  spot,"  said  Mr.  Prentiss,  reluctant 
to  take  undue  advantage  of  an  emotional  frame 
of  mind.  "Take  time  to  consider  the  matter." 

But  Constance  shook  her  head.  "That  would 
not  help  me.  I  have  thought  it  out  already.  I 
could  not  consent  to  sin,  and  you  have  explained 
to  me  that  it  would  be  a  sin." 

"A  sin  surely;  a  carnal  sin  for  you,  Mrs. 
Stuart,"  said  the  clergyman  with  doughty  firm 
ness. 

Constance  gave  a  little  nervous  laugh — or  was 
it  the  echo  of  a  shiver?  "I  had  a  conviction  that 
it  could  never  be.  It  was  a  pleasant  dream." 

The  pathos  of  the  simple  utterance  reawoke 
Mrs.  Wilson's  strained  sensibilities.  She  bent 
and  kissed  Constance  on  the  forehead.  Then 
turning  to  her  rector  she  murmured  with  reverent 
ecstasy : 

"Will  you  not  pray  with  us,  Mrs.  Prentiss?" 

It  was  a  grateful,  benignant  suggestion  to  the 
sufferer;  the  tonic  which  her  yearning,  baffled  spirit 
needed.  Divining  as  by  telepathy  that  the  mo 
ment  had  arrived  for  just  this  spiritual  commu 
nion,  the  clergyman  set  the  example  to  the  two 
women  by  falling  on  his  knees,  and  presently  his 
voice  was  raised  in  fervent  prayer.  It  was  the 
prayer  of  praise  and  victory,  not  of  consolation 
and  distress.  He  thanked  God — as  he  could  do 
with  an  overflowing  heart — for  this  triumph  of 
intelligent  spiritual  discernment  over  the  lures  of 
easygoing  and  numbing  materialism.  The  out- 

356 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 


come  of  the  occasion  was  indeed  for  him  an  oasis, 
one  of  those  green,  fruitful  passages  in  the  more 
or  less  general  dryness  of  heart-to-heart  contact 
with  his  parishioners,  the  occurrence  of  which 
made  him  surer  both  of  his  own  professional  ca 
pacity  and  of  the  eternal  truths  of  his  religion. 
His  invocation  of  his  God  was  alike  a  psean  of 
thanksgiving  and  an  acknowledgment  of  rekindled 
faith.  As  for  Constance,  his  words  were  so  many 
cups  of  water  to  a  thirsty  soul.  Scorched  by  his 
exaltation,  the  cloud  mists  of  doubt  no  longer  per 
plexed  her,  and  she  beheld  with  radiant  eyes  her 
cross,  her  privilege  to  renounce  what  reason  and 
human  passion  urged,  for  the  sake  of  an  ideal — 
the  higher,  vital  needs  of  the  human  race. 

When  Mr.  Prentiss  had  finished  Mrs.  Wilson 
did  not  for  a  moment  trust  herself  to  speak.  Her 
eyes  were  full  of  tears.  She  had  knelt  as  close  to 
Constance  as  she  felt  to  be  harmonious.  It  was 
a  glorious  hour  also  for  her.  The  steadfastness 
of  this  woman  of  the  people  was  not  only  a  subtle 
personal  tribute,  but  it  had  refreshed  the  tired 
arteries  of  her  being.  When  her  daughter  had 
left  her  house,  secure  and  cold  in  the  pride  of  a 
revolting  scheme  of  life,  it  had  almost  seemed  that 
God  mocked  her.  But  now  the  glories  of  His 
grace  were  manifest. 

"Constance,"  she  said,  "I  will  call  for  you  to 
morrow,  to  sit  in  my  pew.  It  is  Sunday,  you 
know." 


357 


XXI 

IN  saying  to  Constance  that  he  had  pondered 
the  question  of  their  marriage  from  her 
standpoint,  Gordon  Perry  felt  that  he  had  given 
indeed  the  fullest  weight  to  every  legitimate 
scruple,  and  believed  that,  provided  he  was  be 
loved,  there  was  no  substance  in  any  one  of  them. 
He  knew  that  Constance  had  shrunk  from  a  di 
vorce.  What  more  natural  so  long  as  she  was 
undisturbed  by  her  deserting  husband?  But  now 
that  the  element  of  a  new,  strong  affection  was  in 
troduced,  the  necessary  legal  proceedings  seemed 
a  paltry  bar  to  her  happiness.  He  had  expected 
that  she  would  demur  to  the  step  at  first,  but  he 
had  felt  confident  that  her  acute  sense  would  short 
ly  convince  her  that  she  was  divorced  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  already,  and  that  the  mere  formal 
adjudication  of  the  fact,  however  unpleasant  sen 
timentally,  was  not  a  valid  obstacle.  He  had  also 
appreciated  that  this  repugnance  to  a  legal  dissolu 
tion  of  the  marriage  tie  for  the  purpose  of  becom 
ing  a  second  time  a  wife  would  be  accompanied 
by  an  instinctive  feminine  aversion  to  giving  her 
person  to  another  man  while  it  was  still  possible 
to  encounter  the  original  husband  in  the  flesh.  He 
did  not  pride  himself  on  his  knowledge  of  women, 
but  the  attitude  suggested  itself  to  him  as  possible, 
even  probable,  in  the  case  of  one  whose  sensibili 
ties  were  so  delicate  as  hers,  for  the  reason  that 

358 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

there  lingered  in  his  mind  the  remembrance  of 
shrinking  words  both  in  books  and  in  real  life 
by  other  women  when  the  same  topic  had  been 
broached  in  the  past.  Consequently  it  was  a  re 
lief  to  him  that  Constance  did  not  openly  manifest 
this  form  of  repugnance,  and  he  radiantly  jumped 
to  the  conclusion  that  her  love  for  him  was  so 
reciprocal  and  mastering  that  false  delicacy  had 
been  shrivelled  up  as  in  a  furnace.  Was  not  such 
a  process  in  keeping  with  her  sterling  sanity  and 
intelligence?  For  a  moment  he  had  jubilantly 
assumed  that  all  was  won,  since,  after  conscien 
tious  if  somewhat  scornful  analysis  of  the 
Church's  claim,  he  had  already  decided  that  the 
pure  religious  objection  would  never  in  the  end 
avail  to  keep  them  apart.  Nor  did  the  forebod 
ing  definiteness  of  her  opposition  discourage  him 
appreciably.  It  merely  cast  a  damper  on  his 
hopes  for  an  immediate  surrender,  and  indicated 
to  him  that  he  had  been  premature  in  supposing 
that  she  had  been  able  to  purge  herself  of  super 
stitions  and  conventional  prejudices  forthwith.  It 
could  simply  be  a  question  of  time  when  so  human 
and  discerning  a  bride  would  come  to  his  arms 
without  a  qualm. 

Nevertheless  he  felt  that  he  must  convince  her. 
Now  that  he  was  sure  she  loved  him,  the  possi 
bility  of  losing  her  was  not  even  to  be  entertained; 
but  he  wished  her  to  succumb  as  the  result  of 
agreement,  and  not  in  spite  of  herself,  both  be 
cause  he  realized  that  she  would  not  be  happy 
otherwise,  and  because  the  doctrine  which  she  had 
invoked  as  a  binding  obligation  jarred  not  only 
with  his  desires,  but  with  his  deepest  opinions. 

359 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Therefore,  at  the  conclusion  of  their  interview, 
he  took  up  straightway  the  cudgels  of  thought  in 
defence  of  his  convictions  against  what  seemed  to 
him  the  essential  injustice  and  unreasonableness  of 
the  Church's  claim.  This  necessarily  involved 
fresh  consideration  of  that  claim  itself.  That 
night  before  he  went  to  bed  he  rehearsed  the  argu 
ments  by  which  he  purposed  to  appeal  to  her.  Did 
she  not  appreciate  that  they  were  influenced  by 
no  base  motives?  That  neither  lust  nor  undue 
haste,  nor  covetous  trifling  with  the  feelings  of 
others  tarnished  their  mutual  passion.  Theirs 
was  no  case  of  putting  off  the  old  bonds  of  matri 
mony  in  order  to  be  on  with  the  new,  but  one 
where  love  had  been  starved  to  death,  and  been 
born  again  by  gradual  and  chaste  processes  in  a 
lonely,  forsaken  heart.  What  could  be  wrong  in 
such  a  union  ?  And  were  not  their  own  consciences 
and  their  own  intelligences  the  only  fit  judges  of 
the  eternal  merits? 

Gordon  Perry's  attitude  toward  religion — tow 
ard  churches  and  toward  churchmen — was  ab 
stractly  respectful  and  friendly.  He  had  been 
brought  up  by  his  mother  in  her  faith,  and  the 
period  of  stress  through  which  most  young  men 
pass  in  early  life  had  been  productive  of  a  frame 
of  mind  which  was  reverent  as  well  as  critical. 
Not  a  small  portion  of  mankind  in  Benham  accept 
ed  their  religious  doctrine  on  trust,  as  they  did 
their  drinking  water.  Either  they  were  too  busy 
to  question  what  seemed  authority,  or  that  particu 
lar  compartment  of  the  brain  where  absorbing  in 
terest  in  the  unseen  germinates  was  empty.  Some 
of  the  most  pious  never  reasoned,  and  their  docile 

360 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

worship  constituted  the  cement  in  the  walls  of 
dogma.  Again,  there  was  a  class — a  growing 
class  in  Benham  as  elsewhere — composed  of  well- 
equipped,  active-minded  men  who  were  polite  to 
Religion  if  they  met  her  in  the  street,  and  would 
even  go  to  church  now  and  again  to  oblige  a 
wife  or  preserve  outward  appearances,  for  they 
were  still  of  the  opinion  that  religion  is  good  for 
the  masses.  But  in  their  secret  souls  what  did 
they  believe? 

Gordon  belonged  to  still  another  class.  Re 
ligious  truth  had  an  absorbing  interest  for  him, 
but  what  was  religious  truth?  Different  sects — 
and  they  were  manifold  in  Benham — told  him 
different  things,  and  each  sect  proclaimed  its  doc 
trine  insistently  as  vital,  if  not  to  salvation,  to  the 
highest  spiritual  development.  Like  many  a  young 
man  before  him,  he  argued  that  all  could  not  be 
right,  and  as  a  result  he  presently  found  himself  a 
member  of  that  secret  society  of  able-bodied,  able- 
minded  male  citizens — the  largest  class  of  all — 
who  reasoned  about  religious  doctrine  somewhat 
in  this  way:  That  they  were  hopefully  looking 
forward  to  the  time  when  the  controversial  differ 
ences  which  divided  the  sects  into  rival  camps 
should  disappear;  and  that  until  then  they  and 
their  successors,  whose  number  was  sure  to  be  le 
gion,  would  turn  deaf  ears  to  the  clashing  of  the 
divines,  and  attend  church  in  order  to  gain 
strength  and  inspiration  to  play  their  parts  well  in 
complex  modern  human  society,  ignoring  all  else 
but  the  spirit  of  Christian  love.  If  it  be  said  that 
they  and  Gordon  were  not  strong  on  dogma,  de 
nied  that  the  laws  of  the  universe  had  ever  been 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

suspended  to  produce  fear  or  admiration  in  man, 
because  to  believe  the  contrary  seemed  to  be  an 
insult  to  God,  and  looked  askance  at  certain  other 
extraordinary  phenomena  to  which  the  orthodox 
cling,  it  should  also  be  stated  that  they  and  he  were 
heartily  in  sympathy  with  every  effort  of  all  the 
clergy  to  improve  human  nature  along  intelligent 
lines,  to  help  the  poor  to  help  themselves,  to  pre 
vent  the  rich  from  misappropriating  the  earth  and 
to  foster  truth,  courage,  unselfishness  and  refine 
ment  in  the  name  of  religion.  Therefore  it  hap 
pened  that  (Gordon  was  apt  to  take  with  a  grain 
of  salt  what  he  heard  in  the  pulpit;  and  now  and 
then  he  would  play  golf  on  Sunday  if  he  were  in 
need  of  fresh  air  for  his  soul;  but  although  he  was 
slightly  impatient  of  clerical  sophistries  up  town, 
down  town  he  lent  a  ready  hand  in  the  active  re 
forms  of  the  city,  in  the  furtherance  of  which  he 
had  learned  to  know  well,  and  to  admire  as  good 
fellows,  half  a  dozen  energetic,  enthusiastic  clergy 
men.  Was  not  religion  one  of  the  great  forces 
of  the  world?  Because  one  could  not  believe 
everything,  and  revolted  at  mystical  or  puerile 
superstitions,  were  the  highest  cravings  of  one's 
nature  to  be  allowed  to  atrophy?  So,  just  as  in  his 
social  perplexities,  he  had  sought  refuge  in  prac 
tical  service  from  the  conflict  of  theories,  and  on 
more  than  one  occasion  he  had  been  agreeably  sur 
prised  by  the  confidential  admission  of  the  divines 
with  whom  he  was  co-operating  that  their  and  his 
views  were  not  essentially  far  apart.  Gordon  was 
glad  on  their  account  to  hear  so,  and  was  only  the 
more  convinced  as  a  consequence  that  it  was  diffi 
cult  to  reconcile  most  of  the  strict  tenets  of  the- 

362 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ology  with  the  modern  ideas  of  wide-awake,  en 
lightened  laymen  concerning  the  workings  of  the 
universe  or  the  best  social  development  of  the 
creature  man. 

Gordon  made  no  attempt  to  see  Constance  on 
the  day  following  his  proposal.  Impatient  as  he 
was  to  renew  his  suit,  he  concluded  to  let  her  muse 
for  twenty-four  hours  on  the  situation.  It  occurred 
to  him  that  he  would  ask  leave  to  accompany 
her  to  church  on  Sunday  morning,  but  reflecting 
that  it  would  not  be  fair  to  disturb  her  meditations, 
he  decided  instead  to  attend  the  service  at  St.  Ste 
phen's  and  walk  home  with  her  after  it.  What 
ever  the  New  Testament  language  on  the  subject, 
would  she  be  able  to  convince  herself  that  the  sun 
dering  of  such  love  as  theirs  would  be  in  keeping 
with  the  true  spirit  of  Christianity?  It  seemed  to 
him  that  there  could  be  but  one  answer  to  this 
proposition,  and  as  he  walked  along  in  the  beauti 
ful  bracing  atmosphere  of  the  autumn  day  his  step 
was  buoyant,  for  he  believed  that  his  happiness 
would  be  sealed  within  a  few  short  hours.  Ec 
stasy  ruled  his  thoughts.  Was  not  the  woman  of 
his  heart  an  entrancing  prize?  Fortune  and  sta 
tion  she  had  none,  but  far  more  important  for  him, 
she  was  lovable  and  she  was  lovely;  she  was  intel 
ligent  and  she  was  good. 

He  had  attended  service  at  St.  Stephen's  once 
or  twice  before,  and  had  a  bowing  acquaintance 
with  Mr.  Prentiss;  but  he  knew  well  and  enter 
tained  a  cordial  liking  for  the  latter's  assistant,  the 
rector  of  the  Church  of  the  Redeemer,  the  mission 
church  in  the  squalid  section  of  the  city  supported 
by  the  larger  establishment.  St.  Stephen's,  as  the 

363 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

fashionable  Episcopalian  church  of  the  commu 
nity,  was  apt  to  draw  a  large  congregation,  espe 
cially  when  the  pew  owners  were  not  confronted 
by  wet  skies  or  sidewalks.  This  brilliant  Sunday 
at  the  beginning  of  the  social  season  had  drawn 
most  of  the  regular  congregation  and  also  a  large 
contingent  of  strangers — chiefly  women — some  of 
them  visitors  in  Benham,  but  the  majority  students 
and  other  temporary  residents  who  found  the  aes 
thetic  music  and  devotional  ritual  of  St.  Stephen's 
stimulating.  Gordon,  who  was  a  little  late,  ob 
tained  a  seat  in  the  gallery.  It  had  occurred  to 
him  that  he  would  be  more  likely  to  catch  sight  of 
his  ladylove  from  this  eminence  than  if  he  re 
mained  below.  His  eyes  sought  at  once  the  so- 
called  free  benches  where  she  was  accustomed  to 
sit,  but  she  was  not  in  her  usual  place.  After  re 
peated  scrutiny  of  the  rows  of  faces  had  convinced 
him  of  this,  he  concluded  dejectedly  that  she  had 
not  come.  Perhaps  she  had  stayed  at  home  hop 
ing  he  would  call.  Or  had  she  been  loth  to  dis 
play  her  glasses  in  public  before  she  had  become 
accustomed  to  the  disfigurement?  His  glance 
wandered  over  the  rich  flower  garden  of  autumn 
bonnets,  but  to  no  purpose.  While  in  perplexity 
he  reviewed  the  probable  causes  of  her  absence 
he  became  aware  that  the  music  of  the  processional 
had  ceased  and  that  Mr.  Prentiss  was  speaking. 
Ten  minutes  later,  when  the  congregation  rose  to 
take  part  in  the  selection  from  the  Psalms,  his 
glance  fell  on  Mrs.  Randolph  Wilson  in  one  of 
the  front  pews.  Her  profile  was  almost  in  a  line 
with  his  vision.  While  he  looked  his  heart  gave 
a  bound,  for  he  suddenly  recognized  that  the 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

young  woman  next  to  her  in  the  gay,  attractive 
bonnet  was  she  for  the  sight  of  whom  his  soul  was 
yearning. 

After  leaving  Constance  on  the  day  of  their 
eventful  interview,  Mrs.  Wilson  had  conceived 
the  plan  of  presenting  her  with  a  new  bonnet  and 
jacket.  These  she  brought  with  her  to  Lincoln 
Chambers  a  little  before  church  time,  and  placed 
with  her  own  hands  on  the  surprised  recipient. 
Pleased  at  the  aesthetic  progress  of  her  ward,  she 
seized  this  opportunity  to  promote  it,  and  also  to 
cater  to  her  own  generous  instincts  at  a  time  when 
to  indulge  them  was  not  likely  to  cause  offence. 
Though  astonished,  Constance  accepted  without 
demur  these  welcome  additions  to  her  toilet,  and 
the  donor  had  the  satisfaction  of  beholding  how 
admirably  they  became  her.  Besides,  Mrs.  Wil 
son  had  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  and  was  eager  to 
communicate  the  plan  which  she  had  been  working 
out  since  they  separated,  and  which  she  imparted 
to  Constance  as  soon  as  they  were  in  her  brougham 
on  the  way  to  church. 

"I  have  been  carefully  considering  your  affairs, 
my  dear,  and,  in  the  first  place,  you  are  to  do 
nothing  for  the  next  six  months  but  get  well.  I 
shall  insist  upon  looking  after  you.  You  promised 
me,  remember."  She  paused  as  though  she  half 
expected  to  encounter  opposition  to  this  project, 
and,  though  her  ward  revealed  no  insubordination, 
she  added  the  argument  which  she  held  in  reserve : 
"For,  having  deprived  you  by  its  counsel  of  the 
means  of  support,  it  is  the  Church's  duty,  and  my 
privilege  as  a  disciple  of  the  Church's  cause,  to 
watch  over  you  until  you  are  able  to  provide  for 

365 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

yourself.  At  the  end  of  the  six  months,  when 
your  eyes  are  strong  again,  I  wish  you  to  become 
my  private  secretary." 

On  the  way  from  her  house  she  had  pictured  to 
herself  the  astonishment  and  delight  which  such 
an  unexpected  and  splendid  proposition  must  nec 
essarily  inspire,  and  she  could  not  refrain  from 
stealing  a  sidelong  glance  at  Constance  in  order 
to  observe  the  effect  it  would  have  on  her. 

"Your  private  secretary?" 

Mrs.  Wilson  felt  rewarded  by  the  incredulous 
bewilderment  conveyed  by  the  interrogatory,  and 
hastened  to  explain  her  benefaction.  "It  seems 
almost  the  interposition  of  Providence  in  your  be 
half,"  she  added.  "Last  evening — and  I  was 
thinking  of  your  noble  resolution  at  the  time — my 
secretary  came  in  to  inform  me  that  she  was  en 
gaged  to  be  married,  and  to  ask  me  to  be  on  the 
lookout  for  someone  else.  'The  very  place  for 
Constance  Stuart,'  I  said  to  myself  at  once.  'What 
could  suit  her  better?  And  what  an  admirable 
arrangement  it  will  be  for  me !'  For,  after  re 
fusing  Mr.  Perry's  offer,  I  take  for  granted  that, 
even  when  your  eyesight  is  restored,  the  continu 
ance  of  your  present  business  relations  would  be 
out  of  the  question." 

"Oh,  yes;  entirely  so,"  answered  Constance 
with  rueful  promptness.  "I  could  not  continue 
in  his  employment;  we  should  both  be  unhappy." 
She  was  making  a  confession  of  what  she  had  been 
saying  to  herself  all  the  morning. 

"Exactly."  Mrs.  Wilson  beamed  over  the 
success  of  her  divination. 

"Then  we  will  consider  it  settled.  And  I  wish 
366 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

to  tell  you  besides  that  I  shall  take  it  upon  myself 
to  see  that  your  boy's  artistic  gift  is  given  full  op 
portunity  for  expression,  and  your  daughter  thor 
oughly  educated.  Your  salary,  I  mean,  will  be 
sufficient  to  enable  you  to  give  them  proper  advan 
tages,  for  I  can  see  that  you  will  be  very  useful 
to  me." 

She  was  determined  to  make  plain  that  virtue  in 
this  case  was  to  be  its  own  reward,  and  that  the 
material  losses  in  the  wake  of  renunciation  were 
rapidly  being  eliminated.  At  the  same  time  she 
wished  to  conceal  a  too  obviously  eleemosynary 
intent. 

"I  don't  see  how  anything  could  be  nicer  for 
me.  And  if  you  think  that  I  should  suit — that  I 
could  perform  the  duties  properly — I  shall  be 
thankful  for  the  position,"  answered  poor  Con 
stance. 

She  had  passed  another  sleepless  night.  Fixed 
as  was  her  conviction  that  separation  from  her 
lover  was  inevitable,  she  felt  deeply  sorry  for  him 
if  not  for  herself,  and  dreaded  the  impending  final 
interview  between  them.  Despite  her  spiritual  ex 
altation  the  consciousness  that  she  was  letting  slip 
a  great  chance  for  her  children  still  haunted  her, 
in  that  the  future  by  comparison  seemed  vague  and 
forbidding.  For  it  had  been  clear  to  her  from  the 
moment  of  her  decision  that  under  no  considera 
tion  could  she  remain  in  Gordon's  office.  There 
fore,  though  doubtless  her  friends  would  help  her, 
the  struggle  for  a  livelihood  must  be  begun  again. 

Mrs.  Wilson's  amazing,  timely  offer  lifted  a 
great  weight  from  her  heart;  by  it  the  question  of 
her  future  employment  was  disposed  of,  and  dis- 

36? 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

posed  of  in  a  way  more  congenial  to  her  than  any 
she  could  have  imagined  possible.  It  did  indeed 
seem  providential  that  the  vacancy  should  have  oc 
curred  at  this  time,  and  she  realized  that  the  cer 
tainty  that  her  children  would  be  protected  would 
nerve  her  for  the  necessary  ordeal  of  parting,  for 
now  there  was  only  selfishness  in  her  desire  for 
marriage.  She  longed  for  it  to  be  over  with  that 
she  might  put  away  once  and  forever  this  great 
temptation. 

The  thought  that  Gordon  would  probably  come 
for  his  answer  that  afternoon  was  uppermost  in 
her  mind  during  the  service;  but  she  was  in  a  mood 
to  respond  to  the  beautiful  music,  and  before  Mr. 
Prentiss  gave  out  the  text  of  the  sermon  she  was 
already  thrilling  with  the  joy  of  her  sacrifice  on 
the  altar  of  faith.  She  prayed  that  she  might  be 
granted  strength  to  renounce  this  seeming  bless 
ing  ungrudgingly  and  to  close  her  ears  to  the  whis 
pers  of  regret,  and  as  she  joined  in  the  jubilant 
anthem  of  rejoicing  for  a  risen  Lord  it  seemed  to 
her  that  the  angel  of  peace  brushed  her  forehead 
with  the  wings  of  heaven's  love.  The  text  was 
"Except  a  man  be  born  again  he  shall  not  enter 
into  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  It  was  a  sermon  of 
immortality  and  hope,  and  a  sermon  of  the  tri 
umph  of  the  spirit  over  the  flesh  for  the  sake  of  a 
Christ  who  had  set  the  great  example  and  con 
quered  self  through  suffering.  It  was  one  of  Mr. 
Prentiss's  most  happy  efforts  from  the  standpoint 
of  orthodoxy,  graphic,  eloquent,  and  practical. 
He  set  no  narrow  limits  of  a  creed  as  the  arbiter 
of  truth,  but  declared  that  the  opportunity  to 

368 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

choose  between  the  path  of  righteousness  and  the 
path  of  self-sufficiency  or  self-indulgence  was  of 
fered  to  every  one  in  the  great  struggle  of  modern 
life;  that  he  who  would  follow  the  blessed  Lord 
and  Master  must  shun  as  evil  that  which  was  in 
jurious  to  the  highest  interests  of  human  society 
and  thus  hateful  to  God.  As  she  listened  Con 
stance  could  not  doubt  that  he  had  her  in  mind. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  more  than  once  his  glance 
rested  on  her  encouragingly  and  fondly.  Her 
brain  was  transported  with  ecstasy  and  zeal.  Her 
opportunity  was  at  hand,  and  she  would  serve 
Christ  and  mankind  faithfully. 

Leaving  the  church  under  the  spell  of  the  ser 
mon,  she  became  suddenly  aware  that  her  lover 
was  beside  her  and  was  suggesting  that  he  escort 
her  home.  At  sight  of  him  her  chaperone,  scent 
ing  danger,  led  the  way  sedulously  toward  the 
brougham,  but  in  the  interval  Constance  decided 
to  take  him  at  his  word.  Would  it  not  be  the 
simplest  course  to  explain  to  him  quietly  on  the 
street  that  what  he  asked  her  was  impossible,  and 
thus  avoid  the  pain  of  a  more  intimate  parting? 
Therefore  she  made  her  excuses  to  Mrs.  Wilson, 
pleading  the  radiance  of  the  day  and  her  need  of 
fresh  air.  She  felt  so  sure  of  herself  that,  though 
she  noticed  her  friend  seemed  disappointed,  it  did 
not  occur  to  her  that  it  was  from  concern  as  to  the 
result  of  the  interview  until  she  heard  a  whispered 
"Be  firm."  Constance  turned  a  resolute  face 
toward  her,  and  by  a  close  pressure  of  the  hand 
gave  the  desired  assurance,  then  as  the  stylish 
equipage  rolled  away  from  the  church  door,  she 

369 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

stepped  to  Gordon's  side,  sadly  conscious  that  this 
was  to  be  their  last  walk  together. 

Three  days  later,  in  the  evening,  Gordon  Perry 
rang  at  the  house  of  the  Rev.  George  Prentiss,  the 
comfortable  looking  and  architecturally  pleasing 
rectory  in  the  neighborhood  of  St.  Stephen's.  A 
trim  maid  ushered  him  into  an  ante-room  where 
all  parochial  visitors  were  first  shown,  and  asked 
for  his  name.  There  was  a  nondescript  elderly 
woman  in  black  ahead  of  him.  In  his  capacity 
as  rector  of  a  large  parish,  Mr.  Prentiss  followed 
the  modern  methods  of  other  busy  professional 
men.  An  electric  bell  at  his  desk  notified  the  ser 
vant  that  the  interview  with  the  last  comer  was 
at  an  end  and  that  the  next  in  order  was  to  be  in 
troduced.  Gordon  had  not  long  to  wait.  His 
remaining  predecessor's  stay  was  brief.  The  rec 
tor's  heartiness  was  almost  apologetic  as  he  strode 
a  pace  or  two  forward  to  greet  his  visitor. 

"Mr.  Perry,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you.  I  am 
sorry  that  you  should  have  been  kept  waiting.  But 
the  clergy  cannot  afford  to  be  unbusiness-like,  can 
they?  We  intend  to  live  down  that  taunt.  So  my 
rule  is  'first  come,  first  served.'  " 

"The  only  proper  rule,  I  am  sure." 

It  was  a  spacious,  well-filled  room,  the  manifest 
workshop  of  an  industrious  man,  but  furnished 
with  an  eye  to  aesthetic  appropriateness  as  well  as 
utility.  Red  leather  chairs  and  lounges  of  goodly 
proportions,  two  symmetrical,  carved  tables  cov 
ered  with  documents,  books,  and  pamphlets,  warm 
curtains,  an  open  wood  fire,  a  globe,  sundry  busts 
and  framed  photographs  of  celebrities,  mainly 
clerical,  including  a  large  one  of  Phillips  Brooks 

370 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

and  another  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  were  its  distin 
guishing  characteristics. 

Mr.  Prentiss  stepped  to  one  of  the  tables  and 
opening  an  oblong  Japanese  box  drew  out  a  hand 
ful  of  cigars. 

"Will  you  smoke,  Mr.  Perry?"  he  asked, 
cheerily. 

Gordon  took  one,  and  the  clergyman,  who  re 
served  his  use  of  tobacco  for  occasions  when  by  so 
doing  he  might  hope  to  make  clearer  that  he  was 
human,  did  the  same.  As  soon  as  they  were  lit, 
Mr.  Prentiss  with  a  sweep  of  his  hand  indicated 
two  easy  chairs  on  either  side  of  the  fire,  but  after 
his  guest  was  seated  he  himself  stood  with  his  back 
to  the  mantel-piece,  his  hands  behind  him,  the  com 
manding  affable  figure  of  a  good  fellow.  Still  he 
chose  to  show  at  the  same  time  what  was  in  his 
heart  at  the  moment  coincident  with  his  manifes 
tations  of  secular  hospitality. 

"That  woman  who  just  went  out  has  recently 
buried  her  only  son,  the  joy  and  prop  of  her  old 
age.  She  came  to  thank  me  for  a  trifling  donation 
I  had  sent  her.  Her  courage  and  her  trust  were 
beautiful  to  witness.  These  humble  lives  often 
furnish  the  most  eloquent  testimonials  of  the  eter 
nal  realities."  He  spoke  with  the  enthusiasm  of 
his  calling,  as  a  doctor  or  a  lawyer  might  have  set 
before  an  acquaintance  an  interesting  case.  He 
liked  to  feel  that  he  was  on  the  same  footing  with 
the  world  of  men  as  they,  with  respect  to  privileges 
no  less  than  responsibilities.  For  an  instant  he 
seemed  to  muse  on  the  experience,  then  briskly  re 
curring  to  the  immediate  situation  said: 

"But  what  can  I  do  for  you,  Mr.  Perry?     My 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

assistant,  Mr.  Starkworth,  tells  me  that  you  take 
an  active  personal  interest  in  the  social  problems 
of  our  community." 

This  bland  presumption  of  ignorance  as  to  the 
cause  of  his  visit  made  Gordon  smile.  He  could 
not  but  suspect  that  it  was  artificial.  Yet  the  in 
quiry  was  by  no  means  hypocritical;  for  though 
Mr.  Prentiss  was  fully  conscious  of  his  caller's 
identity,  and  had  given  him  a  correspondingly 
genial  reception,  he  regarded  the  episode  of  the 
proposed  marriage  as  so  completely  closed  by 
Constance's  decision  that  he  did  not  choose  to  be 
lieve  that  Gordon  had  come  for  the  unseemly  pur 
pose  of  reviving  it.  It  seemed  to  him  far  more 
probable  that  his  advice  or  assistance  was  sought 
in  some  humanitarian  or  civic  cause. 

"Yes,"  said  Gordon  slowly,  enjoying  the  de 
velopment  of  the  opening  which  occurred  to  him, 
"Mr.  Starkworth  and  I  have  co-operated  from 
time  to  time,  with  mutual  liking,  I  think.  It  is  in 
regard  to  a  social  problem  that  I  have  come  to 
consult  you  this  evening." 

"Ah,"  said  the  rector,  relieved  in  spite  of  his 
belief,  and  thereupon  he  settled  himself  in  the 
other  capacious  easy  chair  and  turned  a  cordially 
attentive  countenance  to  his  guest.  "You  may 
feel  assured  of  my  interest  in  anything  of  that 
kind." 

"It  concerns  my  own  marriage,"  said  Gordon. 

The  challenge  was  so  unmistakable,  like  a 
gauntlet  thrown  at  his  feet,  that  Mr.  Prentiss  was 
for  an  instant  disconcerted,  then  irritated.  But  the 
pleasant  manner  of  his  opponent  negatived  the 
aroused  suspicion  that  effrontery  lurked  behind  this 

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THE    UNDERCURRENT 

slightly  sardonic  introduction,  and  he  met  the  at 
tack  with  a  grave  but  supple  dignity. 

"Indeed,"  he  said.     "I  shall  be  very  glad  to 
hear  what  you  have  to  say,  Mr.  Perry." 


373 


XXII 

ORDON  drew  deeply  several  times  at  his 
cigar,  then  laid  it  on  the  bronze  tray  for 
ashes  within  reach,  as  thought  he  felt  that  it  might 
profane  his  thought. 

"I  come  to  you  to-night,  Mr.  Prentiss,  as  man 
to  man,  knowing  that  you  wish  truth  and  justice 
to  prevail,  and  asking  you  to  believe  that  I  desire 
the  same.  We  are  both  of  us  men  of  affairs  in  the 
modern  sense." 

The  rector  bowed. 

"Then  you  as  the  rector  of  one  of  the  most  in 
fluential  churches  in  the  city  will  doubtless  agree 
that  religion  must  be  sane  and  reasonable  in  its 
demands  to-day  or  it  will  lose  more  followers 
among  the  educated — and  education  is  constantly 
spreading — than  it  gains  from  the  ignorant  and 
superstitious?" 

"Assuredly." 

"I,  on  my  side,  as  a  layman — whatever  our  dif 
ferences  of  precise  faith  and  dogma — am  glad  to 
bear  witness  that  the  present  social  world  could  do 
without  true  religion  less  than  ever  before." 

The  summary  pleased  Mr.  Prentiss.  It  was 
reasonable  and  progressive.  "We  are  entirely  in 
accord  there,"  he  answered  heartily. 

"As  I  supposed.  Then  it  obviates  the  necessity 
of  feeling  my  way.  With  some  clergymen  I 

374 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

should  not  venture  to  take  anything  unorthodox 
for  granted,  but  I  believed  that  we  should  readily 
find  a  common  ground  of  agreement." 

The  assertion  was  regarded  by  Mr.  Prentiss  as 
a  compliment.  Nevertheless  he  perceived  that  it 
behooved  him  to  mark  the  limits  of  his  liberality. 

"The  essence  of  Christianity  has  nothing  to  fear 
either  from  the  higher  criticism  or  the  modern 
world's  lack  of  interest  in  moribund  dogma.  May 
I  not  say  with  Paul  'but  this  one  thing  I  do,  for 
getting  those  things  which  are  behind,  and  reach 
ing  forth  to  those  things  which  are  before'?" 

"And  from  that  point  of  view  may  I  ask  why 
you  have  felt  constrained  to  separate  Mrs.  Stuart 
and  me?" 

There  was  a  brief  pause.  The  rector  had  not 
the  remotest  intention  of  shirking  responsibility, 
but  he  wished  the  precise  truth  to  appear. 

"It  was  Mrs.  Stuart's  own  decision." 

"I  asked  her  in  good  faith,  after  an  attachment 
of  several  years,  to  become  my  wife.  She  loves 
me  fondly,  as  I  do  her.  She  would  have  married 
me  had  you  not  convinced  her  that  to  do  so  would 
be  a  sin." 

"I  told  Mrs.  Stuart  that  from  the  standpoint  of 
her  highest  duty  as  a  Christian  woman,  it  would  be 
a  sin.  Not  unpardonable  sin,  if  finite  intelligence 
may  venture  to  distinguish  the  grades  of  human 
error,  but  conduct  incompatible  with  the  highest 
spirituality — and  modern  spirituality,  Mr.  Perry." 

There  was  a  doughty  ring  to  the  rector's  tone, 
betokening  that  he  was  not  averse  to  crossing 
swords  with  his  visitor. 

375 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

"Why  would  it  be  a  sin?" 

Mr.  Prentiss  knocked  the  ash  from  his  cigar  and 
held  up  the  glowing  tip.  "Do  you  not  know?"  he 
asked,  fixing  his  gaze  squarely  on  his  antagonist,  so 
that  he  seemed  to  attack  instead  of  defend. 

"Because  she  has  a  husband  living — a  brute  of 
a  husband  who,  after  dragging  her  down,  deserted 
her  shamefully;  a  husband  whom  she  has  ceased 
to  love  and  from  whom  the  law  of  this  commu 
nity  would  grant  her  a  divorce." 

"Proceed." 

"Because  the  Church  has  seen  fit  to  stigmatize 
as  evil  that  which  the  State  sanctions  in  a  matter 
vitally  affecting  the  earthly  happiness  of  the  human 


sexes." 


Waiting  briefly  to  make  sure  that  the  indict 
ment  was  complete,  Mr.  Prentiss  rejoined  dryly: 
"You  state  the  case  accurately.  My  answer  is  that 
the  Church  is  merely  inculcating  the  precepts  of  the 
Saviour  of  mankind." 

Gordon  drew  a  deep  breath.  He  rejoiced  in  his 
opportunity. 

"Mr.  Prentiss,"  he  said,  "you  referred  just  now 
to  the  world's  lack  of  interest  in  moribund  dogma ; 
we  agreed  that  the  demands  of  religion  to-day  must 
be  sane  and  reasonable.  I  speak  with  entire  rev 
erence,  but  I  ask  whether  you  honestly  believe  that 
the  few  casual  sentences  which  Christ  is  reported 
to  have  uttered  thousands  of  years  ago  in  Pales 
tine  in  regard  to  man's  putting  away  his  wife 
should  control  complicated  modern  human  society 
— the  Christian  civilization  of  to-day — so  as  to 
preclude  a  pure  woman  like  Mrs.  Stuart,  under  the 
existing  circumstances,  from  obtaining  happiness 

376 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

for  herself  and  her  children  by  becoming  my  wife? 
I  ask  you  as  an  intelligent  human  being  and  a  just 
man  if  this  is  your  opinion?" 

There  was  no  hesitation  on  the  rector's  part;  on 
the  contrary,  firm  alacrity. 

"It  is."   ^ 

"And  yet  you  know  that  a  large  portion  of  the 
civilized  world  ignores  the  doctrine,"  answered 
Gordon,  curbing  his  disappointment.  He  had  not 
expected  to  encounter  this  stone  wall. 

"I  do,  to  its  shame  and  detriment.  The  Church 
is  not  responsible  for  that." 

"Then  your  argument  rests  on  the  letter  of 
Christ's  words?" 

"It  does  and  it  does  not."  There  was  triumph 
in  the  rector's  voice  as  he  laid  emphasis  on  the 
qualifying  negation.  He  had  hoped  to  lead  his 
censor  to  this  very  point.  "Nor  does  the  spiritual 
objection  of  the  woman  who  has  refused  to  marry 
you  rest  solely  on  that  ground.  She  is  an  intel 
ligent  person,  Mr.  Perry.  She  perceives,  as  I  per 
ceive,  that  what  you  ask  her  to  consent  to  do  would 
be  evil  for  the  human  race  as  well  as  contrary  to 
the  teachings  of  our  Lord.  There  is  nothing 
moribund  in  that  attitude.  It  is  vital,  timely 
righteousness.  Mrs.  Stuart  must  have  set  this 
double  reason  before  you." 

Gordon  remembered  that  she  had.  In  his  agi 
tation  during  their  final  interview,  believing  that 
she  was  laboring  under  a  neurotic  delusion,  he  had 
given  little  heed  to  her  argument.  Now,  as  a  law 
yer,  he  perceived  the  ingenuity  of  the  plea,  though 
he  still  regarded  her  as  the  victim  of  clerical  soph 
istry.  Yet  he  made  no  immediate  response,  and 

377 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Mr.  Prentiss  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity 
to  elucidate  the  situation. 

"Mr.  Perry,  you  are  led  away  by  the  special 
merits  of  your  own  case.  I  acknowledge  the  hard 
ship;  I  grant  the  pathos  of  the  circumstances. 
They  present  the  strongest  instance  which  could 
be  cited  in  justification  of  remarriage  by  a  divorced 
person.  But  there  must  be  more  or  less  innocent 
victims  on  the  altar  of  every  great  principle.  The 
Lord  has  demanded  this  service  of  His  hand 
maid,  and,  though  her  heart  is  wrung,  she  rejoices 


in  it." 


"I  see,"  said  Gordon,  "and  that  presents  the 
real  issue.  Why  should  the  Church  usurp  the 
functions  of  the  State?  Why  in  this  age  of  the 
world  should  it  decide  what  is  best  for  the  human 
race  in  a  temporal  matter,  and  substitute  an  arbi 
trary  and  inflexible  ethical  standard  of  its  own  for 
the  judgment  of  organized  society?" 

Mr.  Prentiss's  nostrils  dilated  from  the  inten 
sity  of  his  kindled  zeal.  "Why?  For  two  rea 
sons.  First,  because  the  Church  declines  to  regard 
as  a  temporal  matter  an  abuse  which  threatens  the 
existence  of  the  family,  the  corner-stone  of  Chris 
tian  civilization;  and  second,  because  the  State  has 
flagrantly  neglected  its  duty,  allowing  divorce  to 
run  riot  through  the  nation  without  uniform  sys 
tem  or  decent  limitations.  Is  the  Church  to  re 
main  tongue-tied  when  the  stability  of  the  holy 
bond  of  matrimony  has  become  dependent  on  the 
mere  whims  of  either  party?" 

"I  see  the  force  of  your  position.  I  will  answer 
you  categorically.  As  to  the  first  reason,  it  seems 
to  me  untenable.  As  to  the  second,  you  accused 

378 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

me  just  now  of  seeing  only  my  side.  Let  me  re 
taliate,  and  at  the  same  time  suggest  that,  though 
you  may  seem  to  have  a  strong  case,  you  do  not 
know  the  real  facts."  Gordon,  having  reached  a 
more  dispassionate  stage  of  the  argument,  remem 
bered  his  cigar,  which  he  proceeded  to  relight.  But 
the  rector,  not  accustomed  to  such  colloquial  dis 
sent,  threw  his  own  in  the  fireplace  and  crossed  his 
arms. 

"Regarding  your  first  plea  in  behalf  of  the 
Church's  interference  that  the  Church  does  not 
look  on  marriage  as  a  temporal  concern,  let  me 
remind  you,"  continued  Gordon,  "that  marriage 
is  the  only  matter  in  the  realm  of  human  social 
affairs  where  the  Church  undertakes  to  nullify  by 
positive  ordinance  the  law  of  the  State — where 
there  is  divided  authority.  In  all  other  social  af 
fairs  the  law  of  the  State  is  paramount.  The 
Church  forbids  abstract  vices — malice,  uncharita- 
bleness,  lust,  selfishness,  intemperance,  but  it  does 
not  attempt  to  define  these  in  terms  of  human  con 
duct,  or  to  substitute  canons  for  the  secular  statute 
book." 

"The  Church  regards  marriage  as  a  sacrament." 
"The  Roman  Catholic  and  the  Episcopal.     If 
I  may  say  so,  the  attitude  of  both  these  churches 
is  a  foreign  influence." 

The  clergyman  drew  himself  up.  "Foreign?" 
"Yes,  foreign  to  native  American  ideas,  and  I 
might  add  foreign  to  the  claims  of  the  first  fol 
lowers  of  Christianity,  for  the  early  Christian 
Church  did  not  assert  the  right  to  perform  the 
marriage  ceremony,  or  to  regulate  marriage.  Its 
protectorate  dates  from  a  later  period.  But  what 

379 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

I  had  in  mind  was  that  it  is  antagonistic  to  the 
spirit  both  of  our  forefathers  and  their  descend 
ants.  In  the  early  days  of  New  England  the  ser 
vice  of  marriage  was  performed  not  by  the  min 
ister,  but  by  the  magistrate,  and  marriages  by 
clergymen  were  forbidden.  It  was  the  authority 
of  the  State,  the  commonwealth,  the  considered 
judgment  of  the  community  which  was  recog 
nized." 

Mr.  Prentiss  nodded.  "You  are  a  Unitarian, 
I  judge." 

"I  was  brought  up  in  the  Unitarian  faith.  Like 
most  American  men,  I  believe  in  the  power  of  the 
individual  to  work  out  his  own  salvation." 

"But  what  message  have  you  for  a  world  of  sin 
ners?"  asked  the  rector,  trenchantly. 

"I  appreciate  the  force  of  your  criticism.  I  am 
conscious  that  the  weakness  of  Unitarianism — of 
individual  liberty  of  conscience — is  its  coldness, 
that  it  does  not  constantly  hold  out  to  the  degen 
erate  soul  the  lure  of  a  new  spiritual  birth.  It  is 
for  this  reason  largely  that  your  Church  and  the 
Catholic  Church  have  gained  fresh  converts  in  this 
country  and  this  city.  Moreover,  those  churches 
have  promoted  among  us  picturesqueness,  color, 
and  sentiment.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  their 
spirit  is  autocratic  if  not  aristocratic,  and  in  their 
love  for  the  pomp  of  the  ages,  in  their  fealty  to 
the  so-called  vested  rights  of  civilization,  they  have 
little  sympathy  with  the  rational,  every-day  rea 
soning  of  republican  democracy." 

Mr.  Prentiss  pursed  his  lips.  There  was  no 
offence  in  the  speaker's  manner  or  tone  which 
would  justify  a  rebuke;  on  the  contrary,  they  both 

380 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

suggested  that  he  was  trying  to  speak  dispassion 
ately.  But  the  conclusions  stirred  the  rector's 
blood,  and  he  tightened  his  folded  arms. 

"You  seem  to  forget  that  the  spirit  of  Chris 
tian  philanthropy,  of  the  loving  brotherhood  of 
man,  is  the  controlling  emotional  force  in  the 
Episcopal — yes,  in  the  Roman  Church  to-day.  You 
yourself  are  familiar,  for  example,  with  the  work 
of  my  Mr.  Starkworth  in  the  Church  of  the  Re 
deemer." 

"Yes.  But  neither  Church  has  compassion  on 
the  misery  of  common  humanity  when  to  relieve  it 
would  conflict  with  the  hard  and  fast  letter  of 
church  law.  That  is  where — and  notably  in  this 
matter  of  recognizing  divorce — the  other  Protes 
tant  churches,  the  Presbyterian,  the  Methodist  and 
the  Baptist,  have  been  more  tolerant.  They  have 
refused  to  insist  that  it  is  for  the  benefit  of  man 
kind  that,  under  all  circumstances,  men  and  women 
unhappily  married  should  remain  in  durance  vile 
without  the  possibility  of  escape,  or,  having  es 
caped,  should  be  condemned  by  precept  to  celibacy 
for  the  rest  of  their  lives.  And  these  are  sects 
whose  creed  is  based  on  the  essential  sinfulness  of 
human  nature." 

The  rector  glowered  at  Gordon  for  a  moment 
from  under  his  brows.  "Then  where  will  you 
draw  the  line?"  This  was  Mr.  Prentiss's  trump 
card.  It  expressed  his  utter  weariness  with  what 
he  regarded  as  the  foul  system  of  conflicting  and 
irresponsible  legislation,  unceasingly  and  scandal 
ously  availed  of. 

"That  brings  us  to  your  second  proposition!" 
exclaimed  Gordon.  "As  to  whether  the  State  is 

381 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

faithless  to  its  duty.  Have  you  a  copy  of  the  pub 
lic  laws,  Mr.  Prentiss?" 

"Assuredly."  The  rector  strode  across  the 
room  and  taking  down  two  large  volumes  from  the 
book-shelf  presented  them  to  his  visitor.  It  grati 
fied  him  to  demonstrate  by  this  practical  test  the 
broadness  of  his  humanity. 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  the  causes  for  which 
divorce  is  granted  in  this  State?" 

Mr.  Prentiss  hesitated.  Evidently  he  had  no 
exact  information  on  the  subject,  which  at  this 
juncture  was  disconcerting.  "For  far  too  many 
causes;  I  am  sure  of  that,"  he  replied,  stoutly. 

"I  will  read  them  to  you.  'Impotence;  adul 
tery  ;  desertion  for  three  years ;  sentence  for  felony 
for  two  years;  confirmed  habits  of  intoxication; 
extreme  cruelty;  grossly  and  wantonly  refusing  to 
support  wife.'  ' 

The  rector  listened  alertly,  hoping  to  be  able 
to  pounce  on  some  conspicuously  insufficient  pro 
vision.  Since  this  did  not  appear  he  made  a 
sweeping  assertion.  "They  are  all  inadequate  in 
my  opinion  except  unfaithfulness  to  the  marriage 
vow,  and  I  often  doubt  the  wisdom  of  making  an 
exception  there.  I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  the 
Roman  Church  is  not  right  in  its  refusal  to  admit 
the  validity  of  divorce  for  any  cause  whatever." 

"But  what  has  been  the  course  of  history  since 
the  Roman  Church  promulgated  its  canon  at  the 
Council  of  Trent  more  than  three  hundred  years 
ago?  The  cause  of  common  sense  and  justice  as 
represented  by  the  State  has,  in  spite  of  the  fierce 
opposition  of  the  clergy,  won  victory  after  victory, 
until  the  institution  of  marriage  has  been  placed 

382 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

under  the  control  of  the  secular  law  on  most  of  the 
Continent  of  Europe,  and  the  right  to  divorce  and 
the  right  to  remarry  widely  recognized — for  in 
stance  in  France,  Germany,  Switzerland,  Norway, 
Denmark.  In  France  it's  a  criminal  offence  for  a 
priest  to  perform  the  religious  ceremony  of  mar 
riage  until  after  the  civil  ceremony." 

"Yes,  and  it  was  France  which  during  the  days 
of  the  revolution  permitted  divorce  at  the  mere 
option  of  either  party.  And  there  are  signs  that 
we  are  rapidly  imitating  that  same  barbaric  laxity 
in  the  United  States,  and  in  this  community." 

"And  if  it  were,  would  it  be  so  much  more  bar 
barous  a  condition  than  the  conservatism  of  the 
English  law  of  Church  and  State,  which  grants 
divorce  to  the  man  whose  wife  has  been  guilty  of 
adultery,  but  withholds  it  from  a  woman  unless 
her  husband  has  been  guilty  of  cruel  and  abusive 
treatment  into  the  bargain?" 

The  rector  was  touched  on  another  sensitive 
point.  He  put  out  the  palm  of  his  hand.  "I  fail 
to  see  the  relevancy  of  your  comparison,  Mr. 
Perry.  However,  the  American  Episcopal  Church 
is  not  responsible  for  the  flaws  in  the  details  of  the 
English  establishment.  The  two  are  harmonious 
and  their  aims  are  identical,  but  we  do  not  follow 
blindly." 

"Yet  the  American  Episcopal  Church  follows 
its  English  parent  and  the  Roman  Catholic  in 
maintaining  that  the  woman  whose  husband  is  an 
inveterate  drunkard,  is  convicted  of  murder  or  em 
bezzlement,  kicks  and  beats  her  shamefully,  or 
deserts  her  utterly  in  cold  blood,  is  guilty  of  a 
crime  against  heaven  and  against  society  if  she 

383 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

breaks  the  bond  and  marries  again.  Progressive 
democracy  in  the  person  of  the  State  is  more  leni 
ent,  more  merciful.  It  refuses  to  believe  that  one 
relentless,  arbitrary  rule  is  adapted  to  the  exigen 
cies  of  human  society.  It  insists  that  each  case 
should  be  judged  on  its  merits,  and  both  relief 
afforded  and  fresh  happiness  permitted  when 
justice  so  demands.  Think  of  the  many  poor 
creatures  in  the  lower  ranks  condemned  by  your 
inexorable  doctrine  to  miserable,  lonely  lives,  who 
might  otherwise  be  happy!" 

Mr.  Prentiss's  brow  contracted  as  though  he 
were  a  little  troubled  by  the  appeal  to  his  sympathy 
with  the  toiling  mass.  "One  wearies  of  this  ever 
lasting  demand  for  happiness  in  this  life,"  he  mur 
mured.  "Was  Christ  happy?  They  are  free  to 
disregard  the  authority  of  the  Church  if  they  see 
fit,"  he  added.  "I  for  one  should  not  feel  justified 
in  refusing  the  communion  to  a  divorced  woman 
who  had  remarried." 

"But  the  Catholic  Church  would  and  does  uni 
formly;  and  the  high  church  party  in  your  own 
church  would  disapprove  of  your  leniency.  The 
vital  point  is  that  both  churches  and  you  yourself 
brand  those  who  disobey  as  spiritually  impure,  or 
at  least  inferior,  a  stigma  which  appalls  the  best 
women.  And  so  they  are  held  as  in  a  cruel  vice. 
So  you  have  held  her  who  was  to  be  my  wife." 

The  reversion  to  the  personal  equation  remind 
ed  the  rector  that  this  was  no  academic  discussion. 

"You  have  not  answered  my  question  yet. 
Where  will  you  draw  the  line?  Granting  for  the 
moment — which  I  by  no  means  agree  to — that 
gross  habits  of  intoxication,  felony,  or  absolute 

384 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

desertion  are  valid  grounds  for  breaking  the  nup 
tial  bond,  let  me  cite  the  law  to  you  in  turn,  Mr. 
Perry."  Thereupon  Mr.  Prentiss  stepped  to  the 
shelves  again,  and  running  through  the  pages  of 
a  book,  discovered  presently  the  data  of  which  he 
was  in  search.  "What  do  you  think  of  these  rea 
sons?"  he  asked  in  a  scorching  tone.  "American 
grounds  of  divorce :  'When  it  shall  be  made  to 
appear,  to  the  satisfaction  and  conviction  of  the 
court,  that  the  parties  cannot  live  in  peace  and 
union  together,  and  that  their  welfare  requires 
a  separation,'  Utah;  'Voluntarily  living  separate 
for  one  year,'  Wisconsin;  'For  any  cause  that  per 
manently  destroys  the  happiness  of  the  petitioner 
and  defeats  the  purposes  of  the  marriage  relation/ 
Connecticut;  'For  any  cause  in  the  discretion  of  the 
court,'  Kentucky;  'Whenever  the  judge  who  hears 
the  cause  decrees  the  case  to  be  within  the  reason 
of  the  law,  within  the  general  mischief  the  law 
intended  to  remedy,  or  within  what  it  may  be  pre 
sumed  would  have  been  provided  against  by  the 
legislature  establishing  the  foregoing  cause  of  di 
vorce,  had  it  foreseen  the  specific  case  and  found 
language  to  meet  it  without  including  cases  not 
within  the  same  reason,  he  shall  grant  the  divorce,' 
Arizona;  and  in  a  host  of  States,  'One  year's  ab 
sence  without  reasonable  cause.'  ' 

"I  told  you  that  you  seemed  to  have  a  good 
case,"  said  Gordon,  smiling.  "But  I  do  not  think 
that  you  understand  the  facts,  understand  the  real 
nature  of  the  abuse,  for  I  heartily  agree  that  an 
abuse  exists  even  from  the  standpoint  of  those  who 
maintain  that  divorce  should  be  granted  on  the 
slenderest  grounds.  As  to  the  extracts  which  you 

385 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

have  just  read,  I  judge  that  the  book  is  not  a  re 
cent  publication." 

"I  have  reason  to  believe  that  it  is  authorita 


tive." 


"Undoubtedly  it  was  so  at  the  time.  But  sev 
eral  of  the  provisions  in  question  have  been  re 
pealed  and  are  no  longer  law." 

"Ah,"  said  the  rector.  "But  you  cannot  deny 
that  it  is  still  the  law  that  a  man  and  woman  may 
be  married  in  one  jurisdiction  and  adjudged  guilty 
of  adultery  or  bigamy  in  another;  that  the  mar 
riage  tie  is  broken  daily  on  the  most  frivolous 
grounds  and  with  the  most  indecent  haste;  and 
that  there  is  wide  and  revolting  discrepancy  be 
tween  the  statutes  of  the  several  United  States." 

Gordon  nodded.  "I  cannot  deny  the  substan 
tial  accuracy  of  the  indictment." 

"Well,  sir,  how  do  you  justify  it?  Is  not  civil 
society  neglecting  its  duty?" 

"I  do  not  justify  the  defects  in  some  of  the  legal 
machinery,  and  to  this  extent  I  agree  that  society 
is  derelict.  But  what  I  wish  to  make  clear  is  that 
nearly  all  the  legal  grounds  for  divorce  in  the 
several  states  are  just  and  reasonable — substan 
tially  the  same  as  in  this  State — and  that  the 
abuses  against  which  they  afford  relief  are  such 
as  render  the  relation  of  husband  and  wife  in 
tolerable.  There  are  a  few  vague  and  lax  excep 
tions  such  as  you  have  cited,  but  they  are  fast 
disappearing.  The  real  and  the  salient  evil  lies 
in  the  looseness  of  administration  sanctioned  in 
some  jurisdictions,  by  means  of  which  collusive  di 
vorces  are  obtained  by  pretended  residents,  and 
close  scrutiny  of  the  facts  is  avoided  by  the' 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

courts.  To  permit  legal  domicile  to  be  acquired 
by  a  residence  of  three  months,  as  in  Dakota,  is  a 
flagrant  invitation  to  fraud;  but  that  and  kindred 
abuses  are  defects  in  the  police  power,  and  have 
only  a  collateral  bearing  on  the  main  issue  between 
us,  which  is  whether  democracy  can  ever  be  in 
duced  to  reconsider  its  decision  that  it  is  for  the 
best  interests  of  human  nature  that  the  innocent 
wife  or  husband,  to  whom  a  cruel  wrong  has  been 
done,  should  be  free  to  break  the  bond  and  marry 
again.  There  is  the  real  question,  Mr.  Prentiss. 
You  as  a  churchman — a  foreign  churchman  I  still 
claim — demand  that  the  woman  whose  life  has 
been  blighted  by  a  husband's  brutality,  sentenced 
for  heinous  crime,  abandonment,  or  degrading 
abuse  of  liquor  should  remain  his  wife  to  the  end, 
though  he  has  killed  every  spark  of  love  in  her 
soul.  The  Church  will  never  be  able  to  convince 
the  American  people  or  modern  democracy  that 
this  is  spiritual  or  just." 

"And  yet  a  man  who  has  been  prohibited  by  the 
courts  of  New  York  from  marrying  again  has 
merely  to  step  into  New  Jersey  and  his  marriage 
there  will  be  recognized  and  upheld  by  the  courts 
of  New  York.  But  that  you  will  probably  de 
scribe  as  another  instance  of  defect  in  the  police 
power.  The  line  which  you  draw  is  evidently  that 
which  any  particular  body  of  people — sovereign 
states  I  believe  they  call  them — sees  fit  to  estab 
lish.  The  logical  outcome  of  such  a  theory  can 
only  be  social  chaos.  The  sanctity  of  the  home 
is  fundamentally  imperilled  thereby." 

"And  yet,"  said  Gordon,  "the  family  life  of  the 
American  people  compares  favorably  with  that  of 

38? 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

any  nation  in  affection,  morality,  and  happiness. 
More  than  three-fourths  of  the  applicants  for  di 
vorce  in  the  United  States  are  women.  They  have 
thrown  off  the  yoke  of  docile  suffering  which  the 
convention  of  the  centuries  has  fastened  upon 
them." 

"Some  of  them,"  interposed  the  rector  with 
spirited  incisiveness.  "The  shallow,  the  self-indul 
gent,  the  indelicate,  the  earthly  minded.  There 
are  many  who  are  still  true  to  the  behests  of  the 
spirit,"  he  added  significantly.  It  was  doubtless 
an  agreeable  reflection  to  him  that  the  one  woman 
in  the  world  for  his  antagonist  was  among  the 
faithful. 

"On  the  contrary,  I  believe  that  their  number 
is  made  up  largely  of  the  intelligent,  the  earnest, 
and  the  vitally  endowed.  Democracy  maintains 
that  it  is  no  worse  for  children  to  be  educated 
where  love  or  legal  freedom  exists  than  where 
there  is  thinly  concealed  hate,  contempt,  or  indif 
ference." 

It  was  obvious  that  neither  had  been  or  would 
be  convinced  by  the  other's  argument.  Probably 
each  had  been  well  aware  of  this  from  the  first. 
Gordon  had  come  warm  with  what  he  regarded 
as  the  unwarranted  injustice  of  the  clergyman's 
successful  interference,  unable  to  credit  the  belief 
that  it  would  not  be  withdrawn  when  the  case  was 
coolly  laid  before  him.  On  his  part  Mr.  Prentiss 
had  listened  indulgently,  certain  of  the  deep-rooted 
quality  of  his  convictions,  but  willing  to  hear  the 
opposite  side  stated  by  a  trained  antagonist.  He 
had  been  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  elucidate  the 
Church's  attitude,  and  had  not  been  without  hopes 

388 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

of  making  cogent  to  this  censor  of  different  faith 
the  civilizing  righteousness  of  the  ecclesiastical 
stand,  or  at  any  rate — which  would  be  in  the  line 
of  progress — the  demoralizing  insufficiency  of  the 
current  secular  reasons  for  divorce.  Apparently 
he  had  failed  in  both,  and  moreover  had  encoun 
tered  a  disposition  toward  obnoxious  radicalism 
which  was  disturbing. 

"Then  I  am  to  presume  that  you,  and  so  far 
as  you  are  at  liberty  to  speak  for  them,  the  Ameri 
can  people"  (Mr.  Prentiss  could  be  subtly  biting 
when  the  occasion  demanded),  "sanction  practi 
cally  indiscriminate  divorce?" 

Gordon  disregarded  the  sarcastic  note.  The 
bare  question  itself  was  sufficiently  interesting. 

"It  is  true,  as  you  suggested  just  now,  that  the 
American  people  have  gone  further  in  that  direc 
tion  than  any  other  except  the  French.  In  France, 
after  the  latitude  of  optional  divorce  palled,  di 
vorce  was  abolished  and  was  never  authorized 
again,  as  you  may  remember,  until  very  recently 
— 1884.  In  the  exuberance  of  our  enthusiasm  for 
personal  liberty  the  legislators  in  some  of  our 
states — especially  those  of  the  most  recent  origin, 
have  shown  an  inclination  to  pass  laws  which 
justify  your  conclusion.  But  there  is  at  present  a 
reaction.  The  people  have  become  disgusted  with 
the  licentious  shuffling  on  and  off  of  the  marriage 
tie  by  the  profligate  element  of  the  fashionable 
rich  through  temporary  residence  and  collusive 
proceedings  in  other  states.  You  and  I  have  a  re 
cent  flagrant  instance  in  this  city  in  mind.  Every 
good  citizen  abhors  such  behavior,  Mr.  Prentiss. 
But  the  public  conscience  has  become  aroused,  and 

389 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

steps  are  being  taken  to  reform  what  I  termed 
the  defects  in  the  police  power,  partly  by  amend 
ment  of  the  loose  provisions  by  some  of  the  offend 
ing  states,  and  partly  by  provisions  in  other  states, 
challenging  the  jurisdictional  validity  of  foreign 
divorces  granted  to  their  own  citizens  on  paltry 
grounds.  It  is  a  misfortune  that  a  national  divorce 
law  is  only  among  the  remote  possibilities.  And 
yet,  can  there  be  any  doubt  that  any  uniform  law 
which  the  American  people  would  consent  to  adopt 
would  necessarily  include  every  one  of  the  grounds 
already  law  in  this  State,  and  which  the  Church 
labels  as  inadequate?" 

Mr.  Prentiss  twisted  in  his  chair.  "If  the 
Church  were  satisfied  that  the  State  was  sincere, 
a  reasonable  compromise  might  not  be  impossible. 
Some  of  our  thoughtful  clergy  have  been  feeling 
their  way  toward  this." 

Gordon  shook  his  head.  "But  even  your  Church 
would  yield  so  little;  and  the  Roman  Catholic 
nothing  at  all.  Would  you  consent  to  divorce  for 
gross  drunkenness  or  conviction  for  felony?" 

"If  so,  what  becomes  of  the  spiritual  obligation 
that  one  takes  the  other  for  better  or  for  worse? 
Shall  a  woman  desert  her  husband  in  misery?  Is 
long-suffering  devotion  to  become  antiquated?" 

"As  an  obligation,  yes.  If  she  loves  him  still, 
she  will  cling  to  him.  But  if  their  natures  are 
totally  at  variance,  if  she  has  been  cruelly  wronged 
and  disappointed  by  his  conduct,  she  should  have 
the  right  to  leave  him  and  to  wed  again.  The 
world  of  men  and  women  has  ceased  to  believe 
that  individual  happiness  should  be  sacrificed  until 
death  to  the  cruel  or  degenerate  vices  of  another." 

390 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 


"The  doctrine  of  selfish  individualism,"  mur 
mured  the  rector. 

"Mrs.  Stuart  informed  me  that  you  made  that 
cry  the  basis  of  your  objection.  I  agree  with  you 
that  individualism  has  in  many  directions  been 
given  too  free  scope,  and  that  modern  social 
science  is  right  in  demanding  that  it  should  be 
curbed  for  the  common  good.  But  only  when  it 
is  for  the  common  good,  Mr.  Prentiss.  Divorce 
and  remarriage  are  in  many  instances  necessary 
for  the  welfare  of  humanity,  for  the  protection 
and  relief  of  the  suffering  and  virtuous  and  the 
joyous  refreshment  of  maimed,  tired  lives." 

"And  how  liable  they  are  to  become  tired  with 
such  easy  avenues  of  escape!"  Mr.  Prentiss  has 
tened  to  exclaim.  "So  long  as  remarriage  is  stig 
matized  as  a  lapse  from  spiritual  grace,  young 
couples  will  be  patient  and  long-suffering.  The 
truest  love  is  often  the  fruit  of  mutual  forbear 
ance  during  the  early  years  of  wedlock.  It  is  only 
one  step  from  what  you  demand  to  divorce  for 
general  incompatibility.  I  have  yet  to  hear  you 
disclaim  belief  that  this  would  be  for  the  common 
good,  Mr.  Perry."  Mr.  Prentiss  rolled  out  the 
phrase  "general  incompatibility"  with  fierce  gusto, 
as  though  he  were  scornfully  revelling  in  its  felic 
ity  as  an  epitome  of  his  opponent's  theory  carried 
to  its  logical  conclusion.  He  had  been  sparring 
for  wind,  waiting  for  an  opening  as  it  were,  and 
feeling  that  he  had  found  it,  he  forced  the  fighting. 

"It  is  difficult  to  forecast  what  is  to  be  the  future 
evolution  of  the  divorce  problem,"  answered  Gor 
don,  reflectively.  "On  one  side  is  the  security  of 
the  home,  as  you  have  indicated,  on  the  other  the 

391 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

claims  of  justice  and  happiness.  Just  now  respect 
able  society  stands  a  little  aghast — and  no  wonder 
— at  the  scandalous  lack  of  reverence  for  the  mar 
riage  tie  shown  by  our  new  plutocracy " 

"Godless  people !"  interjected  the  rector. 

"And  will  doubtless  mend  its  fences  for  the 
time  being  so  as  to  refuse  divorce  except  for  genu 
ine  tangible  wrongs,  such  as  those  we  have  dis 
cussed.  But  if  you  ask  me  whether  I  believe  that 
in  the  end  general  incompatibility — meaning  there 
by  total  lack  of  sympathy  between  husband  and 
wife — will  be  recognized  by  human  society  as  a 
valid  and  beneficial  ground,  my  answer  is  that  the 
social  drift  is  that  way.  It  will  depend  on  the 
attitude  of  the  women.  They  constitute  by  far  the 
majority  of  the  applicants  for  divorce,  as  you 
know.  If  they  become  convinced  that  it  will  not 
be  for  the  welfare  and  happiness  of  themselves 
and  their  children  to  remain  tied  to  men  utterly 
uncongenial,  the  State  probably  will  give  them 
their  liberty.  But  one  thing  is  certain,"  he  added, 
"the  Church  will  never  be  able  to  fasten  again 
upon  the  world  its  arbitrary  standard." 

Gordon  rose  as  he  finished.  He  felt  that  the 
interview  was  at  an  end,  a  drawn  battle  so  far  as 
change  of  opinion  was  concerned..  But  he  had 
chosen  to  complete  his  bird's-eye  glimpse  of  the 
possible  future  with  a  definite  and  pointed  predic 
tion. 

Mr.  Prentiss  had  listened  with  astonishment  to 
the  speculative  suggestion.  He  had  expected  a 
disavowal  of  the  license  embodied  in  his  taunt,  and 
a  floundering  attempt  at  limitation  which  he  hoped 
would  involve  his  adversary  in  an  intellectual 

392 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

quicksand.  Up  to  this  point  he  had  fancied  Gor 
don,  though  he  had  disagreed  with  him.  But  now, 
as  he  also  rose,  he  manifested  a  shade  of  haughti 
ness,  as  though  he  were  dismissing  someone  who 
had  come  perilously  near  landing  himself  outside 
the  pale  of  the  respect  which  one  man  owes  an 
other  of  the  same  class.  Ignoring  the  assertion 
as  to  the  decay  of  the  Church's  power,  he  said: 

"Such  an  evolution  as  you  predict,  sir,  would 
undermine  the  structure  of  human  society." 

"It  would  be  more  or  less  revolutionary,  cer 
tainly,"  answered  Gordon,  blandly.  The  possi 
bility  seemed  not  to  have  proper  terrors  for  him, 
which  was  puzzling  to  the  clergyman,  who  was 
loth  to  regard  this  well-appearing  young  man  as 
a  sympathizer  with  radical  social  doctrines.  He 
stared  at  Gordon  a  moment. 

"So  long  as  women  are  as  pure  and  spiritual 
minded  as  Mrs.  Stuart  the  laxity  which  you  seem 
to  invite  will  be  out  of  the  question." 

Here  was  an  unequivocal  reminder  to  Gordon 
of  the  real  fruitlessness  of  his  interview.  It  was 
in  effect  a  challenge;  and  he  accepted  it  as  such. 

"She  will  yet  become  my  wife." 

Mr.  Prentiss  shook  his  head.  "I  have  known 
her  longer  than  you,"  he  asserted  proudly. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence.  Issue  had 
been  joined  in  these  two  sentences,  and  further 
speech  was  superfluous.  It  was  Gordon  who  re 
lieved  the  tension,  which  seemed  almost  hostile, 
by  putting  out  his  hand. 

"Mr.  Prentiss,"  he  said,  "we  disagree  utterly, 
but  that  is  no  reason  surely  why  we  should  not  part 
with  amicable  respect  for  each  other's  differences 

393 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

of  opinion?  I  know  you  are  actuated  solely  by 
the  desire  to  accomplish  what  you  believe  to  be 
right." 

The  manly  appeal  was  instantly  reciprocated. 
The  clergyman  grasped  the  outstretched  hand  and 
shook  it  firmly.  To  agree  to  disagree  gracefully 
was  in  keeping  with  his  theories  as  to  the  proper 
attitude  of  men  of  affairs. 

"Mr.  Perry,"  he  said,  "I  am  glad  to  have  made 
your  acquaintance.  Believe  me,  I  grieve  that  the 
church  in  my  person  must  stand  between  you  and 
happiness.  If  any  matter  at  any  time  arises  where 
you  think  I  could  be  of  public  service,  do  not 
hesitate  to  consult  me.  I  am  well  aware  that  we 
both  are  laborers  in  the  same  vineyard." 

Considering  that  their  theological  views  were 
nearly  as  divergent  as  the  poles,  and  that  they 
were  battling  for  a  woman's  soul,  this  was  emi 
nently  conciliatory  and  rational  on  either  side. 


394 


XXIII 

THE  parting  with  Gordon  had  been  exceed 
ingly  painful  for  Constance,  but  she  had 
not  wavered.  The  circumstance  that  they  were 
in  the  street  had  been  a  serviceable  protection,  for 
it  forced  upon  the  interview  a  restraint  which  must 
have  been  lacking  had  they  been  indoors.  She 
was  enabled  to  keep  her  lover  at  bay,  and  to  meet 
his  protestations  of  devotion  and  dismay  with  the 
answer  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind.  At  the 
outset  she  had  explained  to  him  in  a  few  words 
that  she  had  become  convinced  that  marriage 
would  be  inconsistent  with  her  highest  spiritual 
duty  and  hence  must  be  renounced.  Her  responses 
to  his  arguments  and  impetuous  questions  were 
brief  and  substantially  a  repetition  of  her  plea 
that  it  was  incumbent  on  them  for  the  good  of 
civilization  to  stifle  their  love.  He  did  most  of 
the  talking,  she  listened,  and  under  the  influence 
of  her  resolution  rebuffed  him  gently  from  time 
to  time,  trying  to  make  plain  to  him  that  separa 
tion  was  inevitable.  When  they  had  reached  Lin 
coln  Chambers  she  felt  it  advisable  for  both  their 
sakes  that  he  should  not  enter,  but  that  they  should 
part  with  as  little  excitement  as  possible.  Of  what 
avail  an  emotional  scene  such  as  would  be  sure  to 
take  place  were  she  to  let  him  in?  So  she  had 
bidden  him  good-by  then  and  there,  informing  him 

395 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

that  she  was  to  become  Mrs.  Wilson's  secretary. 
She  had  permitted  herself  finally  one  last  hand 
clasp  and  the  luxury  of  saying,  "May  God  bless 
you,  Gordon.  You  have  been  the  truest  friend 
a  woman  ever  had.  I  wish  you  might  be  more. 
Good-by."  Then  she  had  fled,  leaving  him  stand 
ing  aghast  and  still  refusing  to  believe  that  she 
could  be  in  earnest. 

After  she  was  alone  she  was  free  to  weep,  and 
weep  she  did,  divining,  perhaps,  that  the  surest 
way  to  drown  her  grief  was  to  let  sorrow  have 
sway  for  the  moment.  When  she  faced  life  on  the 
morrow,  quiet  and  resolute,  she  could  not  help 
thinking  of  the  Catholic  Sisters  of  Charity  whom 
she  was  in  the  habit  of  seeing  on  the  street,  whose 
faces  so  constantly  suggested  that  they  had  dis 
pensed  with  earthly  happiness.  But  her  elastic 
nature  demanded  that  she  should  seek  earthly  hap 
piness  still,  and  she  found  herself  protesting 
against  the  thought  that  her  renunciation  might 
sadden  the  remainder  of  her  life.  Was  not  her 
sacrifice  for  the  welfare  of  society?  If  so,  it  be 
hooved  her  to  behold  in  it  a  real  blessing  over 
which  she  should  rejoice.  If  it  were  not  a  cause 
for  congratulation,  a  real  escape  from  evil,  she 
was  simply  worshipping  a  fetich  as  Gordon  had 
declared.  It  was  no  case  of  preference  for  spir 
itual  over  mundane  things,  but  of  a  choice  of  what 
was  best  for  her  as  a  human  being.  Hence  she 
ought  to  find  fresh  zest  in  life  itself,  not  wait  for 
future  rewards. 

So  she  sought  to  deaden  her  senses  to  every 
thought  or  memory  of  Gordon,  and  to  take  up  her 
new  life  as  a  quickening  privilege.  The  first  thing 

396 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

to  do  was  to  regain  the  complete  use  of  her  eyes, 
and  for  this  patient  idleness  during  several  months 
would  be  necessary. 

Therefore,  without  demur,  she  lived  up  to  her 
promise  to  Mrs.  Wilson  by  accepting  the  funds  ne 
cessary  for  her  support  until  such  time  as  she  should 
be  able  to  assume  the  full  duties  of  her  position. 
Mrs.  Wilson  made  this  easier  for  her  by  sending 
her  to  investigate  diverse  philanthropic  and  socio- 
ogical  appeals  and  employing  her  on  a  variety  of 
errands.  The  present  secretary  had  agreed  to  re 
main  until  Constance  could  take  her  place,  and  was 
glad  to  delegate  such  duties  as  the  latter  could 
perform.  Accordingly  Constance  reported  daily 
for  instructions  and  had  the  run  of  the  office  ap 
propriated  to  the  secretary's  use,  a  pretty  room 
furnished  with  a  convenient  but  artistic  desk,  a 
typewriter  and  all  the  paraphernalia  for  the 
despatch  of  a  large  correspondence.  She  longed 
for  the  day  to  arrive  when  this  room  would  be 
hers,  and  she  could  devote  herself  unreservedly 
to  the  furtherance  of  Mrs.  Wilson's  wide  inter 
ests. 

One  evening,  some  fortnight  after  the  parting 
between  Constance  and  Gordon,  Loretta  came 
bouncing  into  Constance's  apartment.  She  had 
been  employed  in  one  place  as  a  nurse  during  that 
period,  but  had  completed  her  engagement  the  day 
before.  She  appeared  to  be  in  good  spirits,  and 
Constance  noticed  that  she  had  on  a  new  hat  and 
jacket  more  gaudy  than  was  her  custom,  as 
though  she  had  spent  her  earnings  promptly  and 
freely.  Moreover  she  looked  knowing.  The 
cause  of  this  last  manifestation  was  disclosed 

397 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

when,  after  a  few  preliminary  greetings,  she  ex 
claimed: 

"And  so  you've  left  Gordon  Perry,  Esq., 
Counsellor-at-Law !" 

"Yes.  It  wouldn't  have  been  fair  to  Mr.  Perry 
to  ask  him  to  wait.  Besides,  Mrs.  Wilson  has  in 
vited  me  to  become  her  private  secretary.  Miss 
Perkins  is  going  to  be  married." 

Loretta  cocked  her  head  on  one  side  and  winked 
an  eye.  She  appeared  amused  by  this  plausible 
explanation,  which  apparently  was  not  news  to 
her. 

"I  guess  somebody  else  is  going  to  be  married 
too." 

Constance  felt  uncomfortable;  she  scented  mis 
chief.  But  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  look  inno 
cent. 

"A  litle  bird  told  me  to-day  that  you  had  only 
to  nod  your  head  to  become  Mrs.  Gordon  Perry, 
Esq."  Enjoying  the  look  of  confusion  which  this 
bold  sally  evoked,  Loretta  approached  Constance 
and  peered  mockingly  into  her  face. 

"It's  so,  isn't  it?  You're  engaged  and  you  can't 
deny  it.  I  knew  it!" 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,  Loretta,"  she  managed 
to  articulate  with  decision. 

The  little  bird  was  evidently  Mrs.  Harrity.  But 
the  charwoman's  gossip  could  only  have  been  con 
jecture,  and  of  course  her  inquisitor  knew  nothing 
definite. 

"Well,  it's  your  own  fault  if  it  isn't.  From 
what  I  hear  he's  just  crazy  to  get  you."  Loretta 
paused  a  moment;  she  was  ferreting  for  infor 
mation.  She  seized  Constance  by  the  shoulders 

398 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

and  fixed  her  again  with  her  shrewd  gaze.  "You 
can't  fool  me,  Constance  Stuart.  There's  some 
thing  in  the  wind.  I  shan't  rest  until  I  find 


out." 


Constance  noticed  that  her  cheeks  were  slightly 
flushed,  and  her  eyes  unnaturally  bright.  Could 
she  have  been  drinking?  Surely  not,  or  her  breath 
would  have  betrayed  her.  Doubtless  it  was  only 
the  excitement  of  deviltry  awakened  by  feminine 
curiosity.  Then  it  occurred  to  Constance  to  tell 
her.  Was  it  not  best  to  tell  her?  Loretta  would 
make  her  life  miserable,  so  she  had  intimated,  if 
she  concealed  the  truth.  And  then  again,  as  she 
was  sacrificing  her  love  for  a  principle,  why  conceal 
from  this  other  struggler  the  vital  conclusion  she 
had  reached?  It  might  help,  or  at  least  stimulate 
Loretta.  She  shrank  from  disclosing  her  precious 
secret,  but  now  that  she  was  interrogated,  was  it 
not  the  simplest,  the  most  straightforward  course 
to  confess  what  had  happened  and  explain  her 


reason  r 

u 


Sit  down,  Loretta,  and  I  will  tell  you." 
The  girl  obeyed,  surveying  her  with  an  exultant 
mien.  Constance  hesitated  a  moment.  It  was  not 
easy  to  begin.  "Mr.  Perry  and  I  have  talked 
things  over.  Yes,  Loretta,  he  did  ask  me  to  marry 
him." 

Loretta  uttered  what  resembled  a  whoop  of 
triumph,  partly  to  celebrate  her  own  perspicacity, 
partly  by  way  of  congratulation.  "I  felt  sure  of 
it.  I  knew  he  loved  you  by  the  way  he  was  carry 
ing  on." 

"And  I  loved  him,  but  I'm  not  going  to  marry 
him.  We  are  to  see  no  more  of  each  other  for  the 

399 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

present.     It  would  be  wrong  for  me  to  become  his 
wife." 

Loretta  stared  as  though  she  could  not  believe 
her  ears.  "Wrong?  Who  says  so?  You  don't 
mean  to  tell  me  you've  refused  him?" 

"Yes,"  said  Constance  a  little  sadly,  for  the 
genuineness  of  the  surprise  expressed  recalled  her 
own  perplexity  in  discerning  an  adequate  reason 
for  the  sacrifice. 

Loretta  gasped.  "Well,  you  are  a  fool,  and  no 
mistake !  Refuse  a  man  like  that  who's  crazy  to 
marry  you  and  whom  you  love!  Wrong?  What's 
wrong  about  it?" 

"It's  contrary  to  the  law  of  my  church,  which 
forbids  a  woman  who  has  a  husband  living  from 
marrying  again." 

"But  he's  as  good  as  dead  so  far  as  you're  con 
cerned,"  interjected  Loretta. 

Without  heeding  this  pertinent  remark  Con 
stance  proceeded  to  state  the  so-called  spiritual  ob 
jections  with  succinct  fervor.  She  felt  the  desire 
to  reiterate  aloud  their  complete  potency. 

Loretta  listened  closely,  but  with  obvious  be 
wilderment  and  disdain.  Even  now  she  seemed 
unable  to  credit  her  companion's  announcement  as 
genuine. 

"If  your  clergyman  won't  marry  you,  get  a 
justice  of  the  peace.  That's  just  as  good." 

Constance  shook  her  head.  "From  my  point 
of  view  remarriage  would  be  sinful — impure." 

Loretta  leaned  back  on  the  lounge  where  she 
was  sitting  and  clasped  her  hands  behind  her  head. 
She  appeared  to  be  at  a  loss  to  find  words  to  ex 
press  her  feelings. 

400 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"And  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you've  let  that 
man  go — the  man  you  love  and  who'd  give  you 
a  fine  home  and  be  a  fond  husband  to  you — for 
such  a  reason  as  that?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Constance,  stanchly. 

"Then  all  I  can  say  is  you  didn't  deserve  such 
luck.  He's  too  good  for  you." 

Loretta's  conviction  went  so  deep  that  she  had 
become  grave,  and,  so  to  speak,  dignified  in  her 
language. 

"He's  too  good  for  any  woman  I  know,"  Con 
stance  felt  impelled  to  assert.  "But  for  both  our 
sakes,  all  the  same,  it  was  my  duty  not  to  marry 
him.  Mr.  Perry  knows  my  reasons  and — and  re 
spects  them." 

Constance  had  wondered  many  times  what  her 
lover's  present  emotions  were,  but  she  chose  to 
take  no  less  than  this  for  granted. 

"If  he  loves  you  as  much  as  I  guess  he  does, 
he  must  just  hate  you,  Constance  Stuart.  My! 
Think  of  throwing  up  a  chance  like  that."  Then 
suddenly  a  thought  occurred  to  Loretta,  and 
leaning  forward  she  asked  tensely,  "Does  she 
know?" 

The  suggestion  of  resentment  on  Gordon's  part 
had  been  to  Constance  like  a  dash  of  scalding 
water.  The  question  just  put  served  as  a  restora 
tive. 

"Mrs.  Wilson?  It  was  she  who  advised  me  to 
let  him  go.  She  agrees  with  me  entirely." 

Loretta  looked  astonished  and  disappointed; 
then  she  frowned. 

"Just  because  you've  been  married  once?  Not 
if  you  got  a  divorce?" 

401 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Never,  so  long  as  my  husband  is  alive  and  we 
are  liable  to  meet  in  the  flesh." 

Constance  realized  that  her  phraseology  had  a 
clerical  sound;  still  she  felt  that  she  had  a  right  to 
the  entire  arsenal  of  the  church. 

uAnd  she  believes  that  too,  does  she?  Believes 
that  it  would  be  wicked  for  a  good  looking,  hard 
working  girl,  whose  husband  had  left  her  in  the 
lurch,  and  may  be  dead  for  all  she  knows  or  cares, 
to  get  a  divorce  and  marry  again?  And  that's 
the  Church?  My!  but  it's  the  crankiest  thing  I 
ever  heard.  That's  the  sort  of  thing  which  sets 
the  common  folk  who  use  their  wits  against  re 
ligion.  There's  no  sense  in  it.  She's  a  widow; 
would  she  refuse  to  marry  again  if  the  right  man 
came  along?" 

"That's  different,"  said  Constance,  perceiving 
that  an  answer  was  expected. 

"And  what's  the  difference?  It's  all  right  to 
be  spliced  to  another  man  in  three  months  after 
the  breath  is  out  of  the  first  one's  body,  as  some  of 
them  do,  but  impure  to  marry  again  so  long  as 
the  husband  who  has  dragged  you  round  by  the 
hair  of  your  head  is  liable  to  drop  in.  If  it  comes 
to  that,  and  marriages  are  made  in  heaven,  as  the 
clergy  say,  what  do  the  dead  husbands  and  wives 
think  about  second  marriages  anyway?  I'd  be 
real  jealous  if  I  were  dead." 

"The  Church  has  thought  it  all  out  and  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  is  the  best  rule  for  human 
society." 

Constance  spoke  with  hurried  emphasis,  hoping 
to  terminate  the  discussion.  She  did  not  desire 
to  argue  the  matter  with  Loretta ;  at  the  same  time 

402 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

she  recognized  the  familiar  pertinency  of  the  allu 
sions  to  dead  husbands  and  wives. 

Loretta  detected  Constance's  nervous  agitation. 
"I  hate  to  think  it  of  her,"  she  cried  with  sudden 
illumination,  "but  I  believe  she  has  badgered  you 
into  it!" 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,  Loretta.  It's  my  own 
free  choice.  Mrs.  Wilson  simply  made  clear  to 
me  the  Church's  side." 

Loretta  sneered.  "It's  downright  cruel,  that's 
what  I  call  it.  The  Church's  side !  The  Church 
doesn't  recognize  divorce,  but  there's  always  been 
ways  for  the  rich — the  folk  with  pull,  kings  and 
such — to  get  the  marriages  they  were  tired  of  pro 
nounced  void  from  the  beginning.  It  was  only 
necessary  to  show  that  they  had  been  god-parents 
to  the  same  child,  or  were  twenty-fifth  cousins  by 
affinity,  as  it's  called,  or  some  such  tomfoolery. 
It  didn't  take  Napoleon  long  when  he  wished  to 
get  rid  of  Josephine  to  induce  the  Catholic  Church 
to  declare  that  they  never  had  been  married, 
though  it  was  a  good  church  wedding  before  a 
cardinal.  Pshaw !  The  Church  has  fooled  the 
people  long  enough.  What  we  want  is  justice  and 


common  sense." 


That  same  cry  for  justice,  that  same  appeal  to 
common  sense ;  and  from  what  very  different  lips ! 
Yet  though  Constance  shrank  from  the  coarseness 
of  the  exposition,  somehow  the  naked  saliency  of 
the  argument  was  more  persuasive  than  Gordon's 
subtler  plea.  Her  instinctive  compassion  for  the 
masses  asserted  itself.  The  fact  that  Loretta 
should  have  touched  at  once  the  crucial  point  which 
Gordon's  trained  intelligence  had  emphasized 

403 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

struck  her  forcibly.  And  after  all,  what  was  she 
herself  but  one  of  the  common  people?  But  she 
said: 

"The  scandal  in  Mrs.  Wilson's  own  family  has 
been  the  greatest  grief  and  mortification  to  her." 

Loretta  bridled.  "Yes,  and  when  Mrs.  Waldo 
gets  her  divorce  in  South  Dakota  and  comes  back 
married  again,  won't  everybody  she  cares  about 
receive  her  just  the  same?  In  six  months  she'll  be 
staying  in  Benham  and  her  mother'll  be  inviting 
all  the  other  multi-millionaires  to  meet  her  at  a 
big  blow-out;  see  if  she  don't."  She  paused,  and 
her  eyes  took  on  a  crafty  look.  "What  do  you 
suppose  she'd  say  if  I  were  to  go  back  to  my 
man?" 

Constance  sat  bolt  upright  from  apprehension. 
Loretta's  air  of  mystery,  which  was  accentuated 
by  a  whispering  tone,  conveyed  to  her  the  true  im 
port  of  the  intimation.  Yet  she  would  not  seem 
to  understand. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Loretta?" 

"My  man;  the  father  of  my  child.  He  was  in 
town  the  other  day.  He  has  found  out  where  I 
am  and  has  been  plaguing  me  to  go  back  to  him." 

"Did  he  ask  you  to  marry  him?"  asked  Con 
stance,  seeking  that  solution. 

"That's  not  what  he  meant.  But  I've  thought  of 
that  too — on  baby's  account.  I  guess  he  would  if 
I  were  set  on  it.  But  we're  both  doing  well  single, 
and — "  She  stopped  and  laughed  sarcastically — 
"and  supposing  we  didn't  like  each  other  and  got 
divorced,  I  could  never  marry  anyone  else." 

"No  matter  about  that  now,  Loretta.  Do  you 
love  him  still?" 

404 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

ult's  love  that  makes  the  world  go  round. 
There  isn't  much  else  worth  living  for,  I  guess." 
She  pursed  her  lips  after  this  enigmatical  answer, 
then  suddenly  relaxed  them  in  an  impetuous  out 
burst.  "One  thing's  sure,  Constance  Stuart,  you 
don't  know  what  love  is  or  you'd  never  have  sent 
away  Gordon  Perry,  Esq.,  Counsellor-at-Law." 

"Don't,  Loretta,"  said  Constance,  imploringly. 

"It's  true." 

"I  love  him  with  all  my  heart.  You  don't 
understand." 

"Pish!  If  you'd  loved  him  as  a  woman  loves 
a  man  when  she  does  love  him,  you'd  have  been 
married  before  this.  Why,  there's  times  when  I 
feel  like  going  right  back  to  my  man,  and  I'm 
not  what  you'd  call  more  than  moderately  fond 
of  him.  If  it  hadn't  been  that  I  didn't  want  to 
disappoint  her — and  you — I'd  have  done  it  before 
this.  Now  the  next  time  he  comes  back,  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  I  did."  She  leaned  back  again 
on  the  sofa  with  her  hands  behind  her  head  nod 
ding  doggedly,  and  nursing  her  intention. 

Constance,  appalled,  went  over  and  sat  down 
beside  her.  "Oh,  but  you  mustn't,  you  mustn't! 
Go  to-morrow  to  see  Mrs.  Wilson  and  talk  with 
her.  She  will  give  you  strength  and  convince  you 
that  unless  you  marry  him  such  a  course  would  be 
suicide,  a  cruel  wrong  to  yourself,  dear — you  who 
have  done  so  well." 

"I've  kept  straight  chiefly  to  suit  her;  but  I 
don't  like  what  she  has  done  to  you." 

"Please  leave  me  and  my  affairs  out  of  the  ques 
tion,  Loretta.  They  have  nothing  to  do  with  your 
preserving  your  own  self-respect." 

405 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

"I  don't  know  about  that.  If  she's  just  like 
the  rest;  if  that's  a  sample  of  the  religion  and  the 
beauty  she  prides  herself  on,  I've  been  fooled, 
you've  been  fooled.  What's  the  use  of  being  re 
spectable  if,  when  true  love  does  come,  a  poor, 
deserted  woman  is  robbed  of  it  for  such  a  reason 
as  that?" 

It  surprised  Constance  that  Loretta  should  take 
sides  so  strongly,  and  she  perceived  that  the  girl 
must  have  a  tenderer  feeling  for  her  than  she  had 
supposed.  This  made  her  all  the  more  anxious  to 
protect  her. 

"I  value  your  sympathy  very  much,  dear,  but 
it  won't  help  me — it'll  only  make  me  dreadfully 
unhappy  if  you  do  wrong." 

Loretta  looked  at  her  keenly.  Then  she  took 
out  a  small  phial,  similar  to  that  which  Constance 
had  observed  on  another  occasion,  and  swallowed 
a  pellet  ostentatiously. 

"If  you  are  troubled  with  the  blues  these  are 
the  things  to  take.  They  brace  one  splendid." 

"What  are  they,  Loretta?" 

"If  you  promise  to  take  some  right  along,  I'll 
tell  you."  But  she  evidently  was  not  eager  to  dis 
close  her  secret,  for  she  promptly  replaced  the 
phial  in  her  pocket  and  said,  "I'll  make  a  bargain 
with  you,  Constance.  If  you'll  marry  Gordon 
Perry,  Esq.,  Counsellor-at-Law,  I'll  keep  straight." 

Constance  flushed.  "But  I  can't,  dear.  It's  all 
settled." 

"He  will  come  back  if  you  only  whistle.  You 
know  that." 

Constance  let  her  eyes  fall.  She  feared  that  it 
was  too  true.  But  she  could  not  afford  to  be  pen- 

406 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

sive.  She  must  be  both  resolute  and  resourceful, 
for  the  future  of  this  erring  sister  seemed  to  be 
hanging  in  the  balance. 

"I  can  never  marry  Mr.  Perry,  Loretta. 
But " 

"I  thought  better  things  of  you,  Constance. 
Oh !  well  then  I'll  go  back  to  my  man." 

"If  you  should  do  such  a  thing  it  would  break 
Mrs.  Wilson's  heart." 

This  seemed  to  Constance  in  her  perplexity  the 
most  hopeful  appeal,  and  she  was  right,  for  Loret 
ta  was  obviously  impressed  by  the  remark. 

"Would  it?"  she  asked.  She  looked  down  at 
her  large  hands  and  let  them  rise  and  fall  in  her 
lap  like  one  nervously  touched  by  sentiment. 

"I  do  not  know  of  anything  which  would  dis 
tress  her  more,"  continued  Constance. 

After  a  moment  Loretta  said,  "He's  away  now. 
He  won't  be  on  this  route  again  for  another  four 
months.  So  there  isn't  any  danger  just  yet." 
She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Then  she  rose,  add 
ing,  "I  guess  I'll  go  to  bed,"  which  was  plainly 
an  intimation  that  this  was  to  be  the  limit  of  her 
present  concession. 

Constance  was  relieved,  not  only  that  immediate 
danger  was  averted,  but  that  the  tie  which  bound 
Loretta  to  Mrs.  Wilson,  however  temporarily 
strained,  v/as  still  strong  and  compelling.  She 
rejoiced  to  think  that  they  were  warned,  so  that 
they  could  now  keep  a  closer  watch  and  leave 
nothing  undone  to  save  her  from  further  degen 
eration.  She  dismissed  the  subject  by  making 
some  inquiries  in  regard  to  Loretta's  last  case. 
The  girl's  responses  were  to  the  point  and  brisk, 

407 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

but  she  did  not  resume  her  seat,  and  evidently  had 
no  intention  of  remaining.  Presently  she  got  as 
far  as  the  door,  where  she  stood  discussing  for  a 
few  moments  with  her  hand  on  the  knob.  When 
at  last  she  opened  it  and  was  in  the  act  of  depart 
ing,  she  turned  her  head  and  uttered  this  parting 
shot,  which  indicated  what  was  still  uppermost  in 
her  thoughts : 

"I  guess  that  you  never  really  loved  Gordon 
Perry,  Esq.,  Counsellor-at-Law,  or  you  couldn't 
have  done  it." 

This  taunt  lingered  in  Constance's  mind,  though 
she  denied  the  impeachment  to  herself.  Was  it  not 
indeed  true,  as  Loretta  said,  that  it  is  love  which 
makes  the  world  go  round?  Only  for  the  sake 
of  righteousness  was  she  justified  as  a  healthy, 
breathing  woman  in  stifling  this  instinct.  If  Loret 
ta  in  the  future  were  to  marry  some  one  other  than 
the  father  of  her  child  both  the  Church  and  Mrs. 
Wilson  would  rejoice  because  the  mere  ceremony 
of  marriage  had  been  lacking  in  the  first  relation; 
yet  she  herself  was  forbidden  to  marry  the  man 
she  loved  because  she  was  tied  to  a  faithless  hus 
band  by  the  mere  husk  of  marriage. 

She  saw  Loretta  but  two  or  three  times  before 
her  convalescence  was  complete  and  she  had  as 
sumed  her  duties  as  Mrs.  Wilson's  secretary,  for 
Loretta  was  sent  for  again  shortly,  and  was  only 
at  home  in  the  interval  between  her  engagements. 
But  Constance  gave  Mrs.  Wilson  forthwith  an 
inkling  of  Loretta's  state  of  mind,  though  she 
tried  to  believe  that  the  girl's  wanton  threat  was 
a  mere  passing  ebullition  due  to  resentment  of  her 
reason  for  refusing  Gordon.  Nevertheless  she  did 

408 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

not  altogether  like  the  expression  of  her  eyes;  it 
suggested  excitement,  and  predominance  of  that 
boldness  which,  though  typical,  had  been  much  in 
abeyance  during  the  period  of  her  regeneration. 
She  remembered,  too,  the  bottle  of  pellets,  which 
indicated  that  she  was  taking  some  drug.  So, 
though  she  could  not  believe  that  she  was  seriously 
considering  such  an  abhorrent  proceeding,  she  felt 
it  her  duty  to  put  Mrs.  Wilson  on  her  guard. 
They  both  agreed,  however,  that  the  culprit  must 
be  handled  gingerly  and  not  too  much  made 
of  the  occurrence.  Accordingly  Mrs.  Wilson 
straightway  wrote  to  Loretta,  but  her  letter  was  a 
missive  of  interest  and  encouragement,  not  of  re 
proach  or  alarm.  She  deplored  in  it  that  she  had 
lately  seen  but  little  of  her  ward,  owing  to  the 
latter's  popularity  as  a  nurse,  and  urged  her  to 
call  on  her  at  the  first  opportunity.  She  sent  her 
also  one  or  two  pretty  toilet  articles  for  herself 
and  some  new  frocks  for  her  baby.  Constance 
said  nothing,  however,  to  Mrs.  Wilson  as  to 
Loretta's  attitude  toward  the  church  regarding 
remarriage  after  divorce,  for  she  could  not  bear 
to  renew  the  subject  with  her  patroness.  It  was 
settled  forever,  and  her  spirit  craved  peace. 


409 


XXIV 

IT  was  a  great  relief  to  Constance  when  at  last 
she  was  once  more  self-supporting.  Her 
eyes  appeared  to  be  as  strong  as  ever,  and  she 
found  her  new  work  congenial  and  absorbing. 
She  was  not  merely  Mrs.  Wilson's  stenographer, 
but  her  factotum,  expected  to  exercise  a  general 
superintendence  over  her  employer's  philanthropic 
and  social  concerns,  to  attend  to  details,  and, 
through  tactful  personal  interviews,  to  act  as  a 
domestic  buffer.  The  change  from  the  practical 
severity  of  a  law  office,  with  its  dusty  shelves  of 
volumes  uniformly  bound  in  sheep,  its  plain  furni 
ture  and  heterogeneous  clientage,  to  her  present 
surroundings  was  both  stimulating  and  startling. 
Stimulating  because  it  catered  to  her  yearning  for 
contact  with  aesthetic  influences  to  have  the  run  of 
this  superb  house  and  to  be  brought  into  daily 
familiar  association  with  all  sorts  of  lavish  ex 
penditure  in  aid  of  beautiful  effects  and  beneficent 
purposes.  Startling  because  the  true  quality  of  the 
luxury  aimed  at  was  unknown  to  her  until  she  be 
came  a  constant  eye-witness.  In  both  Mrs.  Wil 
son's  and  her  brother  Carleton  Howard's  establish 
ments  a  major-domo  presided  over  the  purely  do 
mestic  relations,  engaging  the  numerous  servants, 
and  endeavoring  to  maintain  such  a  competent 
staff  below  stairs  as  to  ensure  delicious,  supera 
bundant  food  and  neat,  noiseless  service  which 

410 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

should  emulate  as  far  as  possible  the  automatic 
impersonality  of  male  and  female  graven  images. 
All  the  appointments  of  the  house  were  capti 
vating;  the  pantry  closets  bristled  with  beautiful 
cut  glass  and  delicate,  superbly  decorated  china; 
flowers  in  great  profusion  and  variety  were 
brought  three  times  a  week  from  Carleton  How 
ard's  private  nurseries  to  be  tastefully  arranged  by 
a  maid  whose  special  duty  it  was  to  attend  to  this 
and  to  see  that  those  not  needed  for  the  decora 
tion  of  the  house  should  be  sent  to  the  destinations 
indicated  by  Mrs.  Wilson  through  her  secretary — 
hospitals,  friends  in  affliction  or  with  birthdays, 
and  the  like.  The  spacious  bathrooms  were  lined 
with  artistic  tiles;  electric  lights  had  been  adjusted 
in  the  chambers  so  as  to  provide  perfect  facilities 
for  reading  in  bed;  once  a  week  an  attendant  called 
to  wind  all  the  clocks  in  the  house.  Mrs.  Wilson's 
personal  appetite  was  not  keen,  yet  exacting.  Her 
breakfast  was  served  in  her  own  room,  and,  unless 
she  had  company,  her  other  meals  were  apt  to  be 
slight  in  substance,  but  were  invariably  of  a  deli 
cate,  distinguished  character  as  regards  appear 
ance  if  not  ingredients.  Her  steward  had  instruc 
tions  that  the  dinner  table  should  be  garnished 
with  flowers  and  the  most  luscious  specimens  of 
the  fruits  of  the  season,  though  she  were  alone. 
When  she  had  guests  these  effects  were  amplified, 
and  her  mind  was  constantly  on  the  alert  to  provide 
novelty  for  her  entertainments.  During  the  first 
season  of  Constance's  employment,  music  between 
the  courses — a  harpist,  a  quartette  of  violinists, 
an  orchestra — happened  to  be  the  favorite  special 
feature  of  her  dinner  parties. 

411 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

That  first  winter  Mrs.  Wilson  had  the  influenza 
and  went  to  Florida  for  a  month  for  recupera 
tion,  carrying  her  secretary  with  her.  The  journey 
was  made  in  Mr.  Howard's  private  car,  and  the 
suite  which  they  occupied  at  the  elaborate  modern 
hotel  where  they  stopped  was  the  most  select  to 
be  obtained.  The  spectacle  at  this  winter  resort 
for  restless  multi-millionaires  was  another  be 
wildering  experience  for  Constance.  The  display 
of  toilets  and  diamonds  at  night  in  the  vast  ornate 
dining-room  was  dazzling  and  almost  grotesque 
in  its  competitive  features.  Mrs.  Wilson  pre 
served  her  distinction  by  a  rich  simplicity  of  cos 
tume.  She  had  left  her  most  striking  gowns  at 
home,  and  she  let  Constance  perceive  that  her 
sensibilities  took  umbrage  at  this  public  cockatoo 
emulation  of  wealth.  She  was  even  conspicuously 
simple  in  regard  to  her  food,  as  though  she  wished 
to  shun  unmistakably  being  confounded  with  the 
conglomeration  of  socially  aspiring  patrons,  whose 
antics  jarred  on  her  conceptions  of  beauty.  But 
Constance  could  not  avoid  the  reflection  that  pro 
fuse,  if  not  prodigal,  expenditure  was  typical  of 
her  companion  no  less  than  of  them,  and  that  the 
distinction  was  simply  one  of  taste.  What  im 
pressed  her  was  that  so  many  people  in  the  land 
had  merely  to  sign  a  check  to  command  what  they 
desired,  and  that  the  mania  for  novel  and  special 
comforts,  and  unique  or  gorgeous  possessions  was 
in  the  air.  On  their  way  home  Mrs.  Wilson  spent 
a  few  days  in  New  York  shopping,  having  directed 
Constance  to  communicate  in  advance  with  several 
dealers  whose  business  it  was  to  dispose  of  artistic 
masterpieces.  She  bought  two  pictures  at  a  cost 

412 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

of  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  apiece,  an  antique 
collar  of  pearls,  and  several  minor  treasures.  At 
the  same  time  she  took  advantage  of  the  occasion 
to  grant  an  interview  to  two  persons,  a  man  and 
a  woman,  who  had  solicited  her  aid  in  behalf  of 
separate  educational  charities.  To  each  of  these 
enterprises,  after  proper  consideration,  she  sent  her 
subscription  for  five  thousand  dollars. 

Undoubtedly  the  chief  purpose  of  Mrs.  Wil 
son's  stay  in  New  York  was  to  see  her  daughter. 
After  a  three  months'  residence  in  South  Dakota, 
Lucille  had  obtained  a  divorce  on  the  ground  of 
cruelty,  and  had  promptly  married  her  admirer, 
Bradbury  Nicholson,  son  of  the  president  of  the 
Chemical  Trust.  Mrs.  Wilson  had  declined  to 
attend  the  wedding,  which  took  place  in  Sioux  City 
three  days  after  the  final  decree  had  been  entered — 
a  very  quiet  affair.  Lucille  had  notified  her  mother 
that  it  was  to  occur,  but  was  not  surprised  that 
she  did  not  take  the  journey.  She  and  her  hus 
band  had  spent  four  months  in  Europe  to  let  peo 
ple  get  accustomed  to  the  idea  that  she  was  no 
longer  Mrs.  Clarence  Waldo,  and  recently  they 
had  taken  up  their  residence  in  New  York.  Her 
new  husband  had  three  millions  of  his  own,  and, 
as  Lucille  complacently  expressed  the  situation  to 
her  mother,  society  had  received  them  exactly  as 
if  nothing  had  happened. 

"I  told  you  how  it  would  be,  Mamma,"  she 
said.  "Everybody  understands  that  Clarence  and 
I  were  mismated.  I  am  radiantly  happy,  and,  as 
for  your  granddaughter,  she  could  not  be  fonder 
of  Bradbury  if  he  were  her  own  father.  He  has 
bought  a  thousand  dollar  pony  for  her.  All  the 

413 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Nicholson  connection  and  my  old  friends  have 
been  giving  us  dinners,  which  shows  that  we  can't 
be  disapproved  of  very  strongly." 

Lucille  certainly  looked  in  the  best  spirits  when 
she  came  to  see  her  mother.  She  was  exquisitely 
dressed,  and  her  equipage,  which  stood  at  the 
door  during  her  visit,  was  in  the  height  of  fastidi 
ous  fashion.  So  far  as  externals  were  concerned, 
it  was  manifest  that  she  was  making  good  her 
promise  to  be  more  conservative  and  decorous. 
Mrs.  Wilson  saw  fit  to  mark  her  abhorrence  of 
her  daughter's  course  by  going  to  a  hotel  instead 
of  to  Lucille's  large  house  on  Fifth  Avenue.  She 
was  not  willing  to  stay  under  her  new  son-in-law's 
roof,  but  how  could  she  avoid  making  his  ac 
quaintance  and  dining  with  him?  A  definite 
breach  with  her  only  child  was  out  of  the  question, 
as  she  had  previously  realized;  besides  her  grand 
daughter  demanded  now  more  than  ever  her  over 
sight  and  affection.  Consequently  on  the  second 
day  she  dined  at  the  new  establishment,  and  con 
sented  later  to  attend  a  dinner  party  which  was 
given  in  her  honor,  though  Lucille  kept  that  com 
pliment  from  her  mother's  knowledge  until  the 
evening  arrived.  She  had  taken  pains  to  secure  the 
most  socially  distinguished  and  interesting  people 
of  her  acquaintance,  and  the  affair  was  alluded  to 
in  the  newspapers  as  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
festivities  of  the  winter.  A  leopard  cannot  alto 
gether  change  its  spots,  and  Lucille's  ruling  pas 
sion  was  still  horses,  but  she  desired  to  show  her 
mother  that  she  had  genuinely  improved;  so  it 
happened  that  after  the  guests  had  returned  to  the 
drawing-room  an  organ-grinder  accompanied  by  a 

414 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

pleasing  black-eyed  young  woman,  both  in  fresh, 
picturesque  Italian  attire,  were  ushered  in.  They 
proved  to  be  no  less  than  two  high-priced  artists 
from  the  grand  opera,  who,  after  a  few  prelimi 
nary  capers  to  keep  up  the  illusion,  sang  thrilling 
duets  and  solos.  When  they  had  finished  came  an 
additional  surprise  in  that  the  organ  was  shown 
to  be  partially  hollow  and  to  contain  a  collection 
of  enamelled  bonbonieres  which  were  passed  on 
trays  by  the  servants  among  the  delighted  guests. 
After  the  company  had  gone  mother  and  daughter 
had  an  intimate  talk,  in  the  course  of  which  Lu 
cille,  though  making  no  apologies,  volunteered  the 
statement  that  she  in  common  with  half  a  dozen 
other  women  of  her  acquaintance  had  decided  to 
go  into  retirement  in  one  of  the  church  sisterhoods 
during  the  period  of  Lent.  She  explained  that 
the  sisters  of  her  new  husband,  who  had  high 
church  sympathies,  were  preparing  to  do  the  same 
and  that  the  project  appealed  to  her.  Mrs.  Wil 
son  was  electrified.  It  was  on  her  lips  to  ask  Lu 
cille  how  she  could  reconcile  this  new  departure 
with  her  hasty  second  marriage,  but  she  shrank 
from  seeming  to  discourage  what  might  be  an 
awakening  of  faith  or  even  of  aesthetic  vitality  in 
her  daughter's  heart.  Still,  though  she  rejoiced 
in  Lucille's  apparent  happiness  and  prosperity,  she 
felt  stunned  at  the  failure  of  Providence  to  vindi 
cate  its  own  just  workings.  Much  as  she  desired 
in  the  abstract  that  her  daughter  should  be  blessed, 
how  was  it  that  so  flagrant  a  violation  of  the 
eternal  proprieties  could  result  not  merely  in 
worldly  advancement,  but  an  attractive  home? 
For  there  was  no  denying  that  Bradbury  Nichol- 

415 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

son  was  a  far  more  engaging  man  than  his  prede 
cessor,  and  that  he  and  Lucille  were  at  present 
highly  sympathetic  in  their  relations.  Would  the 
harmony  last?  It  ought  not  to,  according  to  spir 
itual  reasoning.  And  yet  on  the  surface  the  dire 
experiment  had  proved  a  success  and  there  were 
indications  that  permanent  domestic  joys  and 
stability  were  likely  to  be  the  outcome  of  what  she 
considered  disgrace. 

Mrs.  Wilson  did  not  condescend  to  refer  to  her 
daughter's  immediate  past,  but  when  she  found 
that  Lucille  was  brimming  over  with  fresh  tidings 
concerning  the  other  offenders,  Clarence  Waldo  and 
Paul's  wife,  she  suffered  her  to  unbosom  herself. 
This  news  was  consoling  to  her  from  the  stand 
point  of  ethical  justice.  As  she  already  was  aware, 
Mrs.  Paul  Howard,  obdurate  in  her  impatience 
of  delay,  had  obtained  a  divorce  on  the  ground  of 
cruelty  in  Nebraska  after  six  months,  the  statutory 
period  necessary  to  acquire  residence,  and  had  then 
married  Clarence  Waldo.  Now  rumor  reported 
that  the  newly  wedded  couple,  who  had  been 
spending  the  present  winter  in  Southern  California 
for  the  benefit  of  the  second  Mrs.  Waldo's  bron 
chial  tubes,  had  not  hit  it  off  well  together,  to 
quote  Lucille,  and  were  likely  to  try  again.  For 
according  to  the  stories  of  people  just  from  Los 
Angeles  she  was  permitting  a  Congressman  from 
California,  the  owner  of  large  silver  mines,  to 
dance  constant  attendance  on  her,  and  her  hus 
band,  quite  out  of  conceit  of  her  to  all  appear 
ances,  was  solacing  himself  with  a  pretty  widow 
from  Connecticut. 

"Of   course,"    added   Lucille,    contemplatively, 

416 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"if  they  really  intend  to  obtain  a  divorce  in  order 
to  marry  again,  it  will  be  convenient  for  them  that 
they  happen  to  be  in  California,  as  that  is  another 
of  the  states  where  one  can  acquire  a  legal  resi 
dence  in  six  months." 

Mrs.  Wilson's  disgust  was  tempered  by  a  fierce 
sense  of  triumph.  She  was  glad  to  know  the  facts, 
but  she  did  not  wish  to  talk  about  them,  especially 
as  she  was  far  from  clear  in  her  mind  that  there 
was  any  logical  distinction  to  be  drawn  between 
the  conduct  of  these  voluptuaries  and  that  of  her 
own  child.  She  tossed  her  head  as  much  as  to 
say  that  she  desired  to  drop  the  unsavory  topic. 
But  Lucille  was  so  far  blind  to  any  similarity  be 
tween  the  cases,  or  else  so  far  content  with  the 
contrast  in  results  between  the  two  remarriages, 
that  she  continued  in  the  same  vein,  which  was 
pensive  rather  than  critical. 

"I  am  thankful  that  Paul  insisted  on  keeping 
Helen  as  a  condition  of  not  opposing  his  wife's 
Nebraska  libel,  for  it  would  have  been  rather  try 
ing  for  the  poor  child  to  get  used  to  three  fathers 
in  less  than  three  years." 

Mrs.  Wilson  felt  like  choking.  The  unpleas 
ant  picture  intensified  her  repulsion;  yet  she  knew 
that  speech  would  be  no  relief  for  she  would  not 
find  Lucille  properly  sympathetic.  Just  at  that 
moment  her  granddaughter  came  prancing  into 
the  room,  and  ran  to  her.  Mrs.  Wilson  clasped 
her  to  her  breast  as  a  mute  outlet  for  her  emotions, 
for  she  could  not  help  remembering  that  this  child 
also  had  two  fathers,  and  what  was  the  difference 
but  one  of  degree?  Yet  here  was  its  mother 
smiling  in  her  face,  seemingly  without  qualms  and 

417 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

perfectly  happy.     How  was  this  peace  of  mind 
to  be  reconciled  with  the  eternal  fitness  of  things? 

Meanwhile  Lucille  was  saying,  uTell  me  about 
Paul,  Mamma.  How  does  he  take  it?  What  is 
he  doing?" 

Mrs.  Wilson  sighed.  "He  was  terribly  cut  up, 
of  course,"  she  answered,  gravely.  "He  feels 
keenly  the  family  disgrace."  She  paused  inten 
tionally  to  let  the  words  sink  in.  "Fortunately 
for  him,  he  has  been  invited  to  run  for  Congress — 
that  is,  if  he  can  get  the  nomination.  It  seems 
there  are  several  candidates,  but  your  uncle  tells 
me  Paul  has  the  party  organization  behind  him. 
The  caucuses  for  delegates  do  not  meet  until  the 
early  autumn,  and  in  the  meantime  he  hopes  to 
make  sufficient  friends  in  the  district,  which  in 
cludes  some  of  the  small  outlying  country  towns 
as  well  as  certain  wards  in  Benham." 

"It  would  be  nice  to  have  Paul  at  Washington, 
for  he  might  be  able  to  get  the  duties  taken  off  so 
that  our  trunks  wouldn't  be  examined  when  we 
come  from  Europe.  I  suppose  it  will  cost  him  a 
lot  of  money  to  be  elected." 

"I  have  not  heard  so,"  said  her  mother,  stiffly. 
Though  Mrs.  Wilson's  statement  was  true,  cer 
tain  allusions  in  her  presence  by  Paul  and  his 
father  had  aroused  the  suspicion  in  her  mind  that 
elaborate  plans  to  secure  the  necessary  number  of 
delegates  were  already  being  laid.  The  use  of 
money  to  carry  elections  was  a  public  evil  which 
she  heartily  deplored,  and  which  she  was  loth  to 
believe  would  be  tolerated  in  her  own  family. 

"He  can  afford  it  anyway,"  continued  Lucille, 
disregarding  the  disclaimer. 

418 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

Mrs.  Wilson  changed  the  subject.  "He  was  also 
much  absorbed  when  I  left  in  his  new  automobile." 

Lucille  clapped  her  hands.     "A  red  devil?" 

"That  name  describes  its  appearance  admirably. 
It  is  the  first  one  of  the  kind  in  Benham,  and  nat 
urally  has  excited  much  attention." 

"Bradbury  has  promised  me  one  for  a  birthday 
present." 

"I  have  not  ridden  with  Paul  yet,"  said  Mrs. 
Wilson  a  little  wearily,  for  the  enthusiasm  elicited 
appeared  to  her  disproportionate  to  the  theme. 
"He  has  invited  me  once  or  twice,  but  somehow 
the  spirit  has  failed  me." 

Lucille  gasped.  "It's  the  greatest  fun  on  earth, 
Mamma.  They  annihilate  time  and  distance,  and 
you  feel  with  the  rush  and  the  wind  in  your  face 
as  though  you  were  queen  of  the  earth.  If  mine 
runs  well  we  intend  to  tour  through  the  continent 
this  summer.  Fancy  speeding  from  one  capital  of 
Europe  to  another  in  a  few  hours!"  She  paused, 
then  after  a  moment's  reverie  continued,  as  though 
stating  a  really  interesting  sociological  conclusion, 
"I  think  it  possible,  Mamma,  that  if  automobiles 
had  been  invented  earlier,  Clarence  and  I  might 
not  have  bored  each  other.  Which  wouldn't  have 
suited  me  at  all,"  she  added,  "for  Bradbury  is  a 
thousand  times  nicer." 

Mrs.  Wilson  was  painfully  conscious  that  Brad 
bury  was  infinitely  nicer,  which  increased  the  diffi 
culties  in  the  way  of  replying  to  this  incongruous 
observation.  She  decided  to  ignore  it  as  essentially 
flippant,  and  she  rose  to  go.  It  was  the  nearest 
approach  to  a  review  of  the  past  which  either  had 
made  during  her  stay  in  New  York. 

419 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

She  hoped  that  Constance  would  not  appreciate 
how  completely  Lucille  had  rehabilitated  herself 
in  a  worldly  sense,  and  she  tried  to  counteract  the 
effect  of  the  evidence  by  letting  fall  a  remark  now 
and  again  to  show  that  the  memory  of  her  daugh 
ter's  conduct  was  still  a  thorn  in  her  side.  As  a 
mother  she  could  not  but  be  thankful  that  her 
daughter  was  far  happier  as  Mrs.  Bradbury 
Nicholson  than  she  had  been  as  Mrs.  Clarence 
Waldo.  At  the  same  time  her  being  so  was  a 
blow  to  the  theory  that  the  exchange  of  one  hus 
band  for  another  ought  to  end  and  ordinarily  does 
end  in  misery;  or,  in  other  words,  that  divorced 
people  who  marry  again  should  be  and  are 
apt  to  be  unhappy.  To  be  sure,  it  was  early  to 
judge,  and  the  happiness  might  not  last;  and  at 
best  it  should  be  regarded  as  a  sporadic  case  of 
contradiction,  a  merciful  exception  to  the  general 
rule;  but  she  was  glad  when  the  day  arrived  for 
removing  Constance  from  the  sphere  of  this  in 
fluence,  fearing  perhaps  some  pointed  question 
from  her  secretary  which  would  invite  her  to  ex 
plain  how  it  was  that  a  person  who  had  deserved 
so  little  to  be  happy  as  Lucille  should  have  found 
divorce  and  remarriage  a  blessing,  if  the  whole 
proceeding  in  deserving  cases  was  fundamentally 
opposed  to  the  social  well-being  of  civilization. 
As  an  antidote,  Mrs.  Wilson  took  pains  to  en 
lighten  her  as  to  the  rumored  depravity  of  Clar 
ence  Waldo  and  the  late  Mrs.  Howard. 

But  Constance  asked  aloud  no  such  question. 
Yet  necessarily  she  perceived  that  Lucille  was  in 
the  best  of  spirits,  and  apparently  had  suffered  no 

420 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

loss  of  position  by  her  conduct.  Constance  did 
not  need,  however,  any  reminder  from  Mrs.  Wil 
son  that  the  late  Mrs.  Waldo  was  not  a  person 
of  the  finest  sensibilities;  moreover  she  considered 
the  point  as  definitely  settled  for  herself.  Never 
theless  as  a  spectator,  if  no  more,  she  noted  the 
circumstance  that  Lucille  was  already  a  different 
woman  in  consequence  of  her  second  marriage, 
and  she  detected  her  reason  challenging  her  con 
science  with  the  inquiry  which  Mrs.  Wilson  had 
dreaded,  how  it  appeared  that  the  world  would 
have  been  better  off  if  Lucille  had  simply  left  the 
husband  who  had  been  faithless  to  her,  and  re 
mained  single  instead  of  marrying.  Constance 
was  merely  collecting  evidence,  as  it  were.  All 
was  over  between  her  and  Gordon,  but  as  an  intel 
ligent,  sentient  human  being  she  had  no  intention 
of  playing  the  ostrich,  but  insisted  on  maintaining 
an  open  mind. 

It  was  now  nearly  a  year  since  she  had  conversed 
with  Gordon.  Her  sentence  had  been  perpetual 
banishment  from  his  presence  since  the  fateful 
Sunday  when  they  had  parted.  He  had  written 
to  her  that  he  could  not  bear  to  resume  the  old 
relation,  for  now  that  they  knew  they  had  been 
lovers  in  disguise,  it  could  not  be  the  old  rela 
tion.  He  had  declared  that  the  best  thing  for 
them  both  was  never  to  meet,  and  she  had  been 
forced  to  accept  his  decision,  for  he  had  not  been 
to  see  her  since.  Yet  he  had  mitigated  the  rigor 
of  her  punishment,  for  she  chose  to  regard  it  as 
such,  by  occasional  letters,  written  at  irregular  in 
tervals,  letters  which  let  her  know  beyond  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt  that  the  love  he  cherished  for 

421 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

her  was  strong  and  deep  as  ever.  He  sent  her 
beautiful  flowers  on  Christmas  and  her  birthday, 
and  in  writing  to  her  he  told  her  briefly  whatever 
of  special  interest  he  had  been  doing.  Precious 
as  these  communications  were  to  Constance,  she 
was  of  several  minds  as  to  whether  to  answer  them. 
Her  impulse  always  was  to  reply  at  once,  if  only 
that  she  might  draw  forth  another  letter;  but 
sometimes  her  scruples  forced  her  not  to  let  him 
see  how  much  she  cared  and  to  feign  indifference 
by  silence.  She  knew,  as  Loretta  said,  that  she  had 
only  to  whistle  and  he  would  come  to  her,  and  she 
felt  that  it  would  be  cruel  to  give  him  the  smallest 
encouragement  to  believe  that  she  could  ever  alter 
her  decision.  This  being  so,  she  argued  that  he 
ought  to  marry;  he  must  forget  her  and  chose 
someone  else.  She  tried  to  believe  that  she  would 
rejoice  to  hear  that  he  was  engaged  to  another 
woman,  but  when  her  thoughts  got  running  in  this 
channel  she  was  apt  to  break  down  and  realize 
that  she  had  been  trying  to  deceive  herself.  In  such 
moments  of  revulsion  she  now  and  then  would 
throw  her  scruples  to  the  winds  and  write  him 
about  herself  and  her  doings.  On  two  occasions 
she  had  suddenly  decided  that  it  was  necessary  for 
her  to  see  him  again;  see  him  without  his  seeing 
her.  Consequently  she  had  frequented  a  spot 
down-town  where  she  knew  he  would  pass,  and 
each  time  had  been  rewarded  by  a  close  and  unob 
served  glimpse  of  his  dear  features.  These 
glimpses,  the  letters,  and  the  flowers  were  the 
bright  shining  milestones  along  the  itinerary  of  her 
much  occupied  life.  Busy  and  interested  as  she 
was  in  her  employment,  it  sometimes  seemed  to 

422 


The  flowers  were  the  bright,  shining  milestone. 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

her  that  she  walked  in  a  trance  in  the  intervals 
between  some  word  or  sign  from  him. 

Delighted  as  she  had  been  to  travel,  to  see  such 
a  diverse  panorama  of  national  life  as  her  trip  to 
Florida  and  New  York  afforded,  she  was  glad  to 
find  herself  again  at  home.  She  had  not  heard 
from  Gordon  during  her  absence,  and  she  was 
eager  to  see  the  Benham  newspapers  again  in  order 
to  ascertain  what  he  had  been  doing  in  his  new 
capacity  as  a  legislator.  He  had  written  to  her 
the  preceding  autumn  that  he  had  decided  to  allow 
the  use  of  his  name  as  a  candidate  for  the  State 
Assembly,  and  subsequently  he  had  been  elected. 
Before  her  departure  in  the  early  days  of  the 
session,  she  had  kept  her  eyes  and  ears  on  the  alert 
for  public  mention  of  him,  but  had  been  informed 
that  this  was  the  period  for  committee  conferences 
and  that  the  opportunity  for  debate  would  come 
after  the  bills  had  been  framed  and  were  before 
the  house.  Constance  knew  that  Gordon  had  the 
strong  support  of  the  Citizens'  Club  in  his  canvass, 
that  Hall  Collins,  Ernest  Bent  and  others  affiliated 
with  that  organization  had  conducted  rallies  in  his 
behalf,  and  that  he  was  expected  to  favor  progres 
sive  legislation.  There  were  certain  philanthropic 
measures  in  which  Mrs.  Wilson  was  interested  also 
before  the  Assembly,  and  Constance  had  twice  al 
ready  prepared  letters  from  her  employer  to  Gor 
don  in  reference  to  these,  which  was  another  slight 
opportunity  for  keeping  in  touch  with  him. 

Shortly  after  Mrs.  Wilson's  return  from  her 
vacation  it  happened  that  Paul  invited  her  again 
to  ride  in  his  automobile.  Recalling  Lucille's  en 
thusiasm,  and  having  been  partial  all  her  life  to 

423 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

new  aesthetic  sensations,  she  concluded  to  test 
the  exhilaration  described  by  those  who  doted 
on  these  machines.  The  afternoon  chosen  was 
one  of  those  days  in  the  early  spring  when  sky 
and  wind  combine  to  simulate  the  balminess  of 
summer.  It  was  a  satisfaction  for  Paul  to 
have  his  aunt  beside  him  both  because  he  ad 
mired  her  and  because,  seeing  that  he  regarded 
her  as  what  he  called  a  true  sport  at  bottom,  he 
felt  confident  that  she  had  only  to  experience  the 
sensation  of  speed  to  become  an  enthusiast  like 
himself.  Therefore,  he  let  his  red  devil  show 
what  it  could  do,  in  the  hope  of  carrying  her  by 
storm.  Equipped  with  suitable  wraps  and  a  pair 
of  goggles,  Mrs.  Wilson  found  the  process  of 
whirling  through  the  country  at  a  breakneck  pace, 
by  the  mere  compression  of  a  lever,  a  weird  and 
rather  magnetic  ordeal.  These  were  the  adjec 
tives  which  she  employed  to  express  her  gratifica 
tion  to  her  nephew.  She  was  glad  to  have  tried 
it,  but  in  her  secret  soul  she  had  grave  doubts  if 
it  were  the  sort  of  thing  she  liked.  Nevertheless 
she  did  her  best  to  appear  delighted,  for  she  had 
in  mind  to  drop  a  few  words  of  warning  in  Paul's 
ear  to  the  effect  that  it  was  incumbent  on  men  of 
his  class  in  the  community  to  preserve  their  self- 
respect  in  the  matter  of  electioneering  as  an  ex 
ample  to  the  country  at  large.  In  the  intervals 
when  Paul  moderated  the  speed  she  endeavored 
to  convey  to  him  clearly  but  not  too  concretely  the 
substance  of  her  solicitude.  She  let  him  realize 
that  she  had  him  and  his  campaign  in  mind,  but 
that  she  did  not  intend  to  meddle  beyond  the  limit 
of  emphasizing  a  principle  unless  he  were  to  ask 

424 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

her  advice.  Paul  listened  to  what  she  had  to  say 
with  evident  interest,  and  without  interruption. 
He  even  let  his  machine  crawl  along  so  as  to  get 
the  complete  benefit  of  her  exposition.  When  she 
had  set  forth  her  views  she  turned  toward  him 
and  said  in  conclusion,  by  way  of  showing  that  she 
made  no  charges  but  simply  desired  to  put  him  on 
his  guard: 

"Very  likely  you  have  thought  this  all  out  for 
yourself  and  intend  to  see  that  every  dollar  you 
may  use  is  expended  legitimately." 

Paul  let  the  automobile  come  to  a  halt,  and 
removing  his  goggles  proceeded  to  wipe  off  the 
dust  and  moisture. 

"Aunt  Miriam,  every  word  which  you've  said  is 
gospel  truth;  but — and  it  is  a  large  but — if  I  were 
to  follow  your  advice  to  the  letter  there  would 
not  be  the  slightest  possibility  of  my  securing  the 
nomination.  I've  thought  it  all  out,  as  you  say, 
and  I'd  give  gladly  to  charity  twice  the  sum  I  shall 
be  compelled  to  spend,  if  I  could  only  confine  my 
outlay  to  legitimate  expenses,  stationery,  printing 
and  the  hiring  of  a  few  halls.  I've  no  objection 
to  explaining  to  you  why  I  can't,  provided  I  wish 
to  keep  in  the  running.  There  are  three  men  in 
cluding  myself  in  this  district,"  he  continued, 
starting  the  lever,  "who  are  bidding  for  the  nomi 
nation.  Each  of  us  has  a  machine,  a  machine  the 
function  of  which  is  to  create  enthusiasm.  Ninety 
per  cent,  of  the  candidates  for  public  office  do  not 
inspire  enthusiasm;  they  have  to  manufacture  it. 
And  there  are  all  sorts  of  ways  of  doing  so;  by 
paying  club  assessments  and  equipping  torch-light 
paraders  with  uniforms;  by  invading  the  homes  of 

425 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

horny-handed  proletarians  and  sending  tennis  or 
ping-pong  sets  to  their  progeny;  or  by  the  solider, 
subtler  method  of  large  direct  cash  payments, 
which  can  never  be  detected,  to  a  certain  number 
of  local  vampires  as  expenses  for  influence,  and 
whose  quid  pro  quo  is  the  delivery  of  the  goods 
at  the  polls.  I  have  engaged  a  smooth  and  highly 
recommended  patriot  at  a  hi^h  salary  to  conduct 
my  canvass.  He  has  told  me  there  will  be  large 
expenses.  When  he  asks  for  money  I  draw  a  check 
and  ask  no  questions — a  rank  coward's  way  I  ad 
mit.  I  know  nothing  as  to  what  he  does  with  the 
money,  and  so  I  salve  my  conscience  after  a  fash 
ion."  Paul  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  applied  a 
little  more  power  to  the  automobile,  while  he 
chanted : 

"  Some  naturalists  observe  the  flea 
Has  smaller  fleas  on  him  to  prey, 
And  these  have  smaller  still  to  bite  'em, 
And  so  proceed  ad  infinitum. 

"Which  means,  my  dear  aunt,"  he  continued, 
"that  when  a  rich  man  runs  for  office  a  certain 
proportion  of  the  free-born  consider  that  they  are 
entitled  to  direct  or  indirect  pickings  in  return  for 
a  vote." 

Mrs.  Wilson  sighed.  "But  is  not  the  price  too 
high  for  a  free-born  citizen  to  pay?  Why  ex 
change  private  life  and  the  herbs  of  personal  re 
spect  for  publicity  and  a  stalled  ox  which  is 
tainted?" 

"I've  thought  occasionally  of  getting  out,  but 
father  would  be  disappointed.  I  wish  to  go  to 
Congress  myself  and  the  party  wishes  me  to  go. 

426 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

And  what  would  be  the  result  if  I  retired?  One 
of  the  other  two  would  win,  and  I  don't  throw  any 
large  bouquet  at  myself  in  stating  that  I  shall 
make  a  much  more  useful  and  disinterested  Con 
gressman  than  either  of  them." 

Mrs.  Wilson  shook  her  head,  but  at  the  same 
time  she  appreciated  the  difficulties  of  the  situa 
tion.  For  she  herself  desired  to  see  her  nephew 
go  to  Washington.  It  was  one  thing  to  tell  him 
to  take  a  brave  stand  and  refuse  to  swerve  from 
the  path  of  highest  political  probity,  another  to 
advise  him  in  the  midst  of  the  canvass  to  dismiss 
his  manager  and  thus  invite  certain  defeat.  It 
sometimes  seemed  to  her  that  the  ways  of  the 
world  of  men  were  past  understanding.  She  won 
dered  whether,  if  human  affairs  were  in  the  hands 
of  women,  the  rivalry  of  politics  and  the  competi 
tion  of  commercialism  would  tolerate  the  same 
army  of  highwaymen  who  held  up  would-be  decent 
citizens  as  successfully  and  appallingly  as  Dick 
Turpin  and  Claude  Duval.  She  liked  to  believe 
that  complete  purity  would  reign,  and  yet  the  mem 
ory  of  what  some  women  to  her  knowledge  were 
capable  of  in  the  bitterness  of  club  politics  served 
as  a  caveat  to  that  deduction.  Discouraging 'as 
Paul's  observations  were,  as  bearing  on  the  ethical 
progress  of  human  nature,  and  deeply  as  she  de 
plored  the  fact  that  he  appeared  to  be  winking  at 
bribery,  she  recognized  that  she  had  shot  her  bolt, 
for  she  was  not  sufficiently  conversant  with  the 
different  grades  of  electioneering  impropriety  to 
be  willing  to  take  on  herself  the  responsibility  of 
imploring  him  to  retire,  even  if  he  would  consent 
to  do  so.  But  the  confession  had  robbed  the  day 

427 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

of  much  of  its  beauty  for  her.  She  glanced  at  the 
little  clock  in  the  dashboard,  and  remembering  that 
she  desired  to  leave  a  message  for  her  secretary, 
to  whom  she  had  given  an  afternoon  off,  she  asked 
Paul  if  he  would  return  home  by  way  of  Lincoln 
Chambers. 

It  happened  that  in  turning  something  went 
wrong,  so  that  the  automobile  came  to  a  stop. 
Paul  was  obliged  to  potter  over  the  mechanism 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  he  was  able  to  get 
the  better  of  the  infirmity.  Somewhat  nettled, 
and  eager  to  make  up  for  lost  time  and  to  demon 
strate  to  his  companion  that  in  spite  of  this  mis 
hap  a  red  devil  was  the  peer  of  all  vehicles,  he 
forced  the  pace  toward  Benham.  By  the  time  he 
was  within  the  city  limits  his  blood  was  coursing 
in  his  veins  as  the  result  of  the  impetus,  and  he 
felt  on  his  mettle  to  amaze  the  onlookers  as  he 
sped  swiftly  and  dexterously  through  the  streets. 
Gliding  from  avenue  to  avenue  without  misad 
venture,  he  applied  a  little  extra  power  as  they  flew 
down  that  street  around  one  corner  of  which  stood 
Lincoln  Chambers,  in  order  to  make  an  impressive 
finish.  In  turning  he  described  an  accurate  but 
short  circle,  so  that  the  automobile  careened  slight 
ly,  causing  Mrs.  Wilson  to  utter  an  involuntary 
murmur.  Paul,  amused  at  her  nervousness,  suf 
fered  his  attention  to  be  diverted  for  an  instant; 
the  next  he  realized  that  a  young  child,  darting 
from  the  sidewalk,  was  in  the  direct  path  of  the 
rapidly  moving  machine.  He  strained  every  nerve 
to  prevent  a  collision,  shutting  off  the  power  and 
endeavoring  to  deflect  the  vehicle's  course  so  that 
it  might  strike  the  curbstone  to  their  own  peril 

428 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

rather  than  the  child's;  but  the  catastrophe  was 
complete  almost  before  he  realized  that  it  was 
inevitable.  There  was  a  sickening  bump,  accom 
panied  by  the  screams  of  women;  the  red  devil  had 
overwhelmed  and  crushed  the  little  victim,  and 
stood  panting  and  shaking  like  a  rudely  curbed 
dragon. 

Paul  jumped  from  his  seat  and  lifted  the  child 
from  the  gutter  into  which  it  had  been  hurled  and 
where  it  lay  ominously  still  with  its  head  against 
the  curbstone.  He  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
two  women,  in  one  of  whom  he  recognized  his 
aunt's  secretary.  The  other  with  an  assertive 
agony  which  made  plain  her  right  to  interfere, 
sought  to  take  the  child  from  him — a  flaxen- 
haired  girl  of  about  four — exclaiming: 

"Oh,  what  have  you  done?  You've  killed  her. 
You've  killed  her." 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Wilson,  utterly  shocked, 
sought  to  keep  her  head  as  the  only  possible 
amelioration  of  the  horror.  She  whispered  in 
Paul's  ear:  "There's  a  drug  store  opposite.  We'll 
take  her  there  first  and  send  for  a  doctor."  At 
the  same  time  she  put  her  arm  around  the  mother's 
shoulder,  and  said,  "Let  him  carry  her,  Loretta, 
dear.  It  is  best  so." 

Loretta  Davis  desisted,  though  she  stared  wild 
ly  in  her  patron's  face. 

"The  blood — the  blood,"  she  cried,  pointing  to 
the  tell-tale  streaks  on  the  child's  head.  "I'm  sure 
she's  dead." 

Acting  on  his  aunt's  suggestion,  Paul  bounded 
across  the  way  with  the  limp  form  clasped  in  his 
arms.  While  those  immediately  concerned  en- 

429 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

deavored  with  the  aid  of  the  apothecary  to  ascer 
tain  that  the  injuries  were  not  grave,  a  curious 
crowd  began  to  gather  in  the  store.  By  the  time 
that  the  trial  of  the  ordinary  restoratives  had 
made  clear  that  the  child  was  already  beyond  the 
aid  of  medicine,  though  Mrs.  Wilson  and  Con 
stance  wrung  their  hands  and  counted  the  seconds 
in  hope  that  the  physician  telephoned  for  would 
arrive,  a  reporter,  a  policeman,  and  a  doctor  ap 
peared  on  the  scene.  The  physician,  who  hap 
pened  to  be  passing,  was  Dr.  Dale,  the  oculist  with 
the  closely  cut  beard  and  incisive  manner  who  had 
attended  Constance.  A  moment's  inspection  suf 
ficed  him  for  a  verdict. 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  done,"  he  said. 

At  the  fell  words  a  wave  of  anguish  passed 
through  the  group.  Paul  allowed  Mrs.  Wilson 
to  take  the  baby  from  him;  and,  overwhelmed  be 
yond  the  point  of  control,  he  bowed  his  head  in 
his  hands,  and  burst  into  tears.  His  aunt  rever 
ently  clasped  the  stiffening  form  to  her  bosom 
regardless  of  the  oozing  blood  which  mottled  her 
cloak. 

"We  must  get  Loretta  home  as  quickly  as  possi 
ble,"  she  whispered  to  Constance,  and  she  started 
to  lead  the  way  so  as  to  save  the  situation  from 
further  publicity. 

But  now  that  the  doctor's  usefulness  was  at  an 
end,  the  two  other  representatives  of  social  author 
ity  advanced  their  claims  for  recognition.  The 
police  officer,  having  relegated  the  gaping  specta 
tors  to  a  respectful  distance,  began  to  inquire  into 
the  circumstances  of  the  accident,  in  which  he  was 
ably  surpassed  by  the  agent  of  the  press,  who, 

430 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

note-book  in  hand,  had  already  been  collecting 
material  from  the  bystanders  and  composing  a 
sketch  of  the  surroundings  before  interviewing  the 
principals.  Paul  gave  his  name  and  address,  and 
made  no  attempt  to  disguise  his  responsibility  for 
the  tragedy.  Mrs.  Wilson,  finding  her  way  barred 
by  the  two  functionaries,  grudgingly  gave  similar 
information  in  the  hope  that  they  would  be  al 
lowed  to  escape.  As  she  bore  the  victim  in  her 
arms,  this  would  have  been  the  result  had  not  Lor- 
etta,  who  was  following  close  behind  under  the  su 
pervision  of  Constance,  and  who  up  to  this  point 
had  seemed  dazed  by  the  proceedings,  suddenly 
realized  what  was  taking  place.  She  clutched  Con 
stance's  arm. 

"Will  it  be  in  the  newspapers?"  she  inquired 
with  feverish  interest. 

The  reporter  overheard  her  inquiry.  "You  are 
the  mother  of  the  little  girl,  madam?"  he  asked, 
addressing  her,  pencil  in  hand. 

"Yes.     She  is  my  only  child." 

"Your  name  is?" 

"Loretta  Davis." 

"And  the  child's?" 

"Tottie.  She  would  have  been  five  in  a  few 
weeks." 

The  reporter  perceived  that  he  had  found  a  re 
sponsive  subject.  "I  lost  a  little  girl  of  just  that 
age  two  years  ago,"  he  volunteered  sympatheti 
cally.  "Is  there  a  photograph  of  Tottie  which 
you  could  let  me  have  for  the  press?  The  public 
would  like  to  see  what  she  looked  like." 

Loretta's  eyes  sparkled.  She  thrust  her  hand 
in  her  pocket  and  drew  forth  a  photographer's 

431 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

envelope.  "Isn't  it  lucky,"  she  cried,  "I  got  these 
proofs  only  yesterday,  and  they're  the  living  image 
of  my  baby." 

As  she  hastily  removed  the  package  from  her 
pocket,  together  with  her  handkerchief,  Loretta 
let  a  small  bottle  slip  to  the  floor.  Constance,  who 
was  spellbound  with  dismay  at  the  turn  of  affairs, 
stooped  mechanically  to  pick  it  up.  She  recog 
nized  the  pellets  lauded  by  Loretta.  In  doing  so 
her  head  nearly  bumped  against  that  of  Dr.  Dale, 
who  was  intent  on  a  similar  purpose.  He  got 
possession  of  the  bottle,  and  instinctively  he 
glanced  at  the  label  before  transferring  it  to  Con 
stance.  She  observed  that  he  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders.  As  she  put  out  her  hand  to  take  it  from  him, 
she  said  in  a  low,  resolute  tone : 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  those  are?"  Then  as 
the  physician  regarded  her  searchingly,  she  added, 
"I  have  a  special  reason  for  asking.  I  wish  to 
befriend  her." 

"Cocaine  tablets,"  answered  Dr.  Dale.  "The 
woman  has  the  appearance  of  a  drug  habitue." 


432 


XXV 

IN  parting  with  the  Rev.  Mr.  Prentiss  without 
personal  rancor  and  yet  with  an  open  avowal 
of  his  conviction  that  Constance  would  marry  him 
in  the  end,  Gordon  Perry  both  made  an  admission 
and  issued  a  challenge.  His  admission  on  the  sur 
face  was  simply  that  he  recognized  the  rector's 
sincerity.  In  his  own  consciousness  it  went  further; 
he  recognized  the  validity  of  the  conflict  between 
them  to  an  extent  which  he  had  up  to  this  time 
failed  to  perceive,  or  at  least  to  acknowledge. 

The  effect  of  this  was  to  intensify  the  ardor  of 
his  convictions,  but  at  the  same  time  to  cause  him 
as  a  lawyer  to  respect  his  opponent's  position, 
though  he  believed  it  to  be  utterly  false.  The 
interview  had  been  absorbing  to  him  sociologically, 
for  it  had  crystallized  in  his  own  mind  as  concrete 
realities  certain  drifts  or  tendencies  of  which  he 
had  been  aware,  but  which  he  had  hitherto  never 
formulated  in  words.  Now  that  the  occasion  was 
come  for  doing  so,  the  indictment — for  it  was  that 
— had  risen  spontaneously  to  his  lips.  It  was  clear 
to  him,  as  he  had  informed  Mr.  Prentiss,  that 
there  was  a  direct  strife  in  American  social  evolu 
tion  between  those  who  sought  eternal  truth 
through  the  free  processes  of  the  human  spirit 
and  those  who  accepted  it  distilled  through  an 
hierarchy. 

Just  as  in  his  sociological  perplexities  Gordon, 

433 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

yearning  to  be  a  sane  spirit,  had  abstained  from 
radicalism  and  had  sought  relief  in  concrete  prac 
tical  activities,  he  had  watched  the  theological 
firmament  and  had  felt  his  way.  If  he  realized 
that  the  Christian  organizations  which  saw  in  the 
human  soul  a  dignity  which  rejected  mediation 
were  merely  holding  their  own  as  formal  bodies, 
he  comforted  himself  with  the  knowledge  that  the 
thousands  of  men  and  women  who  rarely  entered 
the  churches — among  them  many  of  the  most 
thoughtful  and  busiest  workers  in  the  land — were 
to  a  unit  sympathizers  with  the  creed  of  soul-free 
dom  and  soul-development.  Not  merely  this;  he 
knew  that  among  orthodox  worshippers  the  secret 
belief  of  the  majority  of  the  educated  already  re 
jected  as  superfluous  or  antiquated  most  of  the 
old  dogmas.  But  with  his  reverence  for  religion 
as  an  institution,  Gordon  had  no  ambition  to  out 
strip  his  generation;  simply  to  be  in  the  van  of  it. 
There  was  no  attraction  for  him  in  iconoclasm; 
he  craved  illumination,  yet  not  at  the  expense  of 
rationalism.  Now  suddenly  the  practical  issue  of 
the  Church's  interference  with  the  State,  of  the 
Church's  imposition  on  mankind  of  a  cruel,  inflexi 
ble  ideal,  labelled  as  superior  purity,  had  become 
both  an  immediate  and  a  personal  concern.  His 
soul  felt  seared  as  by  an  iron;  all  his  instincts  of 
sympathy  with  common  humanity,  the  helpless 
victims  of  an  arbitrary  aim  to  preserve  the  fam 
ily  at  the  expense  of  the  blameless  individual,  were 
aroused  and  intensified.  Viewed  as  a  general  issue, 
Gordon  felt  no  question  as  to  the  outcome.  Was 
it  not  already  decided?  The  Church  had  never 
ceased  to  deplore  as  usurpation  society's  constantly 

434 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

louder  claim  the  world  over  of  the  right  to  regu 
late  marriage,  but  without  avail.  It  was  only 
abuse  by  the  State  which  had  produced  a  reaction 
and  given  sacerdotalism  another  chance.  But  the 
particular,  the  personal  issue,  was  a  very  different 
matter.  For  him  it  meant  everything,  and  his 
whole  being  revolted  at  the  possibility  of  losing 
the  great  joy  of  life  through  such  a  misapprehen 
sion  of  spiritual  duty  on  the  part  of  her  who,  so 
far  as  he  was  concerned,  was  the  one  woman  in 
existence.  Yet  during  the  next  weeks  following 
the  interview  with  the  clergyman  he  experienced 
a  sense  of  flatness  which  was  almost  despondency, 
for  he  realized  that  he  had  exhausted  his  resources. 
Mr.  Prentiss  had  refused  to  aid  him;  on  the  con 
trary,  had  virtually  defied  him  by  expressing  a 
triumphant  conviction  that  Constance's  decision 
was  final.  Could  it  be  that  she,  whose  lucidity  of 
mind  he  had  been  wont  to  admire,  would  refuse 
to  understand  that  the  barrier  which  seemed  to 
separate  them  was  but  an  illusion?  Surely  it  was 
not  for  the  good  of  the  world  that  true  love — its 
most  vital  force — should  be  starved  because  the 
marriage  tie  was  played  fast  and  loose  with  by 
others.  And  yet  he  appreciated  apprehensively 
the  subtlety  of  this  plea  for  the  world's  good;  how 
modern  it  was,  and  how  attractive  to  woman  when 
made  the  motive  for  the  exercise  of  renunciation. 
Truly,  the  priest  had  argued  shrewdly,  yet  Gordon 
refused  to  admit  that  Constance  could  be  deceived 
for  long.  That  seemed  too  incompatible  with  her 
previous  outlook  and  their  delightful  comradeship 
which  had  held  love  in  disguise. 

He  concluded  forthwith  that  his  best  hope  lay 

435 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

in  terminating  that  comradeship.  To  resume  it 
would  make  them  brother  and  sister,  a  relation 
tantalizing  to  him,  and  which  might  be  better  than 
nothing  to  her,  and  thus  strengthen  her  resolve. 
Accordingly,  with  Spartan  courage,  he  never  vis 
ited  her.  But  he  chose  by  his  letters  and  his  gifts 
to  let  her  know  unequivocally  that  he  was  waiting 
for  her  to  relent — would  wait  until  the  end  of 
time.  He  wrote  to  her  that  her  dear  image  was 
the  constant  inspiration  of  his  thoughts,  and  that 
he  sighed  for  the  sound  of  her  voice. 

While  thus  he  chafed  within,  and  yet  endeav 
ored  to  pursue  his  work  as  earnestly  as  though  he 
had  been  able  to  forget,  he  received  and  accepted 
an  invitation  from  the  Citizens'  Club  to  become 
a  candidate  for  the  State  Assembly.  He  saw  in 
this  both  relief  and  an  incentive;  public  service 
would  tend  to  divert  and  refresh  his  thoughts,  and 
opportunity  would  be  afforded  him  to  promote 
legislation.  It  would  suit  him  to  become  a  mem 
ber  of  the  free  parliament  of  men  where,  whatever 
its  abuses  and  shortcomings,  the  needs  of  ordi 
nary  humanity  were  threshed  out,  and  where  true, 
practical  reforms  were  piece  by  piece  won  from 
the  vested  traditions  of  the  past. 

At  the  same  time  he  declared  to  the  members 
of  the  committee  which  waited  on  him  that  in  ac 
cepting  their  nomination  he  was  not  to  be  under 
stood  as  offering  himself  to  the  voters  as  a  de 
nunciatory  radical  or  as  advocating  all' the  so-called 
grievances  aired  at  the  Citizens'  Club.  His  words 
were,  "I  agree  to  support  every  measure  which  I 
believe  would  be  an  immediate  benefit  to  the  com 
munity  from  the  standpoint  of  justice  and  public 

436 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

usefulness.  If  you  are  content  with  that  guarded 
generalization,  I  shall  be  proud  to  serve  you;  but 
if  you  insist  on  my  playing  the  demagogue  or  wear 
ing  the  livery  of  the  enemies  of  constituted  society, 
I  must  decline  the  nomination." 

"That's  all  right,"  asserted  Hall  Collins,  who 
was  the  spokesman.  "What  we  want  this  trip 
are  two  or  three  new  pieces  of  timber  in  the  ship 
of  state,  repairs  we'll  call  them  if  you  like  it  so, 
and  we've  chosen  you  as  carpenter  for  the  job. 
Side  with  us  when  you  can,  and  when  you  can't 
we'll  know  you're  honest." 

This  voiced  the  sentiment  of  the  Citizens'  Club, 
and  it  was  no  disparagement  to  the  sincerity  of  its 
action  that  those  who  directed  the  club's  affairs 
cherished  hopes  that  the  nominee,  through  his 
standing,  would  gain  support  from  other  quarters 
than  the  radical  element  and  thus  be  more  likely 
to  win.  Their  hopes  were  justified.  Gordon  had 
a  comfortable  majority  in  his  district,  though  it 
was  understood  that  he  had  affiliations  with  so- 
called  socialists  and  labor  reformers. 

During  the  first  year  of  his  service  as  a  legisla 
tor  he  made  no  effort  to  fix  public  attention  on  him 
self  by  forensic  readiness.  He  was  studying  the 
methods  of  procedure  and  familiarizing  himself 
with  the  personnel  of  the  assembly.  But  though 
his  name  did  not  appear  conspicuously  in  the  press 
notices — which  was  a  disappointment  to  a  certain 
lady  constantly  on  the  watch  for  it — this  did  not 
mean  that  he  failed  to  attract  the  attention  of  his 
associates.  On  the  contrary,  his  thoroughness, 
patience,  and  fairness  were  soon  recognized,  and 
when  he  rose  to  speak — which  he  did  more  fre- 

437 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

quently  in  the  later  weeks  of  the  session  in  relation 
to  bills  of  importance  where  the  vote  was  likely  to 
be  close — the  members  paid  attention  as  though 
they  were  glad  to  know  his  reasons.  It  was  per 
ceived  that  he  inclined  to  the  party  of  progress 
rather  than  to  the  conservatives,  but  that  he  did 
not  hesitate  to  turn  a  cold  shoulder  towards  or  to 
rebuke  mere  blatherskite  or  visionary  measures. 

A  modern  legislature  has  to  deal  with  questions 
which  vitally  affect  the  development  of  the  body 
politic;  the  relations  of  powerful  corporations  to 
the  public  and  it  to  them;  the  demands  of  toiling 
bread-winners  for  shorter  hours  of  labor  and 
hygienic  safeguards,  and  the  newly  fermented 
strife  between  the  right  to  hold  and  the  obligation 
to  share  the  fruits  of  the  earth  and  the  profits  of 
superior  ability  and  industry.  These  were  prob 
lems  which  particularly  interested  Gordon,  and,  as 
one  by  one  they  arose  for  action,  he  sought  to  solve 
each  on  its  merits  without  prejudice  and  with  an 
eye  to  justice.  It  was  understood  that  he  would 
be  a  candidate  for  the  next  assembly,  and  in  mak 
ing  their  forecast  the  sophisticated  referred  to  him 
as  a  coming  leader,  one  of  the  men  who  would 
control  the  balance  of  power  by  force  of  his  intelli 
gence  and  independence.  The  Citizens'  Club  was 
content  with  the  part  which  he  had  played.  Several 
measures  in  which  it  was  interested  had  become 
law  through  his  advocacy;  others,  though  defeat 
ed,  had  gained  ground;  two  notable  bills  confer 
ring  valuable  franchises  for  next  to  nothing  upon 
plausible  capitalists  had  been  exposed  and  given 
their  quietus  in  spite  of  a  persistent  lobby ;  and  the 
candidate  had  promised  during  the  next  session  to 

438 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

press  the  bill  for  a  progressive  legacy  tax,  an 
amendment  to  the  existing  legacy  tax  law,  which 
would  increase  the  sum  levied  in  progressive  ratio 
with  the  size  of  every  estate  transferred  by  death. 
This  was  a  reform  which  Hall  Collins  and  his  inti 
mates  had  at  heart,  and  they  had  won  Gordon  to 
their  side  as  an  enthusiastic  supporter  of  its  essen 
tial  reasonableness.  The  bill  had  been  killed  in 
committee  for  the  past  two  years;  yet  the  present 
year  the  adverse  report  had  been  challenged  in  the 
house  and  had  been  sustained  by  a  comparatively 
small  majority  after  strenuous  and  excited  appeals 
to  what  was  termed  the  sober,  conservative  sense 
of  the  American  people.  Gordon's  speech  in  be 
half  of  the  measure  was  listened  to  with  a  silence 
which  suggested  a  desire  for  enlightenment.  After 
the  debate  was  over  there  had  been  prophecies  that 
another  year  it  would  stand  a  good  chance  of 
passing. 

It  was  toward  the  close  of  Gordon's  first  session 
in  the  assembly  that  the  harrowing  death  of  Loret- 
ta's  child  occurred,  and,  owing  to  the  prominence 
of  the  parties  concerned  in  the  homicide,  which 
was  the  first  automobile  accident  in  Benham,  be 
came  town  talk.  The  newspaper  artists  illustrated 
the  tragedy  with  drawings  of  the  red  devil  in  the 
act  of  striking  the  victim,  portraits  of  everybody 
concerned,  from  Tottie  to  the  apothecary  into 
whose  shop  she  had  been  carried,  and  camera  cuts 
of  the  obsequies.  There  were  appropriate  edi 
torials  on  the  iniquity  of  allowing  furious  engines 
to  be  propelled  at  a  rapid  rate  through  the  streets; 
and  sensational  conflicting  rumors  were  rife  in  the 
news  columns  as  to  the  amount  by  which  the  re- 

439 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

pentant  multi-millionaire  had  sought  to  idemnify 
the  mother  for  his  carelessness.  Conjecture  fixed  it 
at  various  sums  from  one  thousand  to  fifty  thou 
sand  dollars,  and  one  imaginative  scribe  conjured 
up  the  information  that  Tottie  was  to  be  replaced 
as  far  as  possible  by  the  most  beautiful  baby  which 
the  Howard  family  could  procure  by  search  or 
advertisement. 

In  his  genuine  distress  for  the  irreparable  evil 
he  had  wrought  Paul  Howard  had  gone  straight 
way  to  Loretta  to  pour  out  his  contrition  and  to 
express  a  willingness  to  make  such  amends  as  were 
possible  for  the  catastrophe.  He  saw  her  twice; 
the  first  time  on  the  day  following  the  accident, 
when  she  appeared  excited  but  dazed;  the  second 
on  the  morning  after  the  funeral.  Then  her  condi 
tion  of  mind  bordered  closely  on  exaltation  as  the 
result  of  being  the  temporary  focus  of  public  at 
tention.  She  was  surrounded  by  newspapers,  and 
she  insisted  on  calling  Paul's  notice  to  all  the 
reportorial  features.  With  special  pride  she  made 
him  note  a  cut  which  showed  that  the  coffin  had 
been  piled  high  with  the  most  exquisite  flowers — a 
joint  contribution  from  Mrs.  Wilson  and  himself. 
Loretta's  own  apartment  was  also  a  bower  of  roses 
from  the  same  sympathizing  source,  and  the  young 
woman  was  in  her  best  dress — festal  mourning — 
as  though  she  were  expecting  visitors.  Paul  found 
some  difficulty  in  broaching  the  question  of  indem 
nity.  He  was  in  the  mood  to  draw  his  check  for 
any  sum  in  reason  which  the  bereaved  mother 
should  declare  to  be  satisfactory  compensation  for 
her  loss,  even  though  it  were  excessive,  so  that  he 
might  adjust  the  matter  then  and  there.  He  had 

440 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

every  intention  of  being  generous;  moreover  he 
knew  that  all  this  publicity  concerning  the  accident 
was  injuring  his  canvass  for  the  Congressional 
nomination,  and  he  hoped  to  create  a  reaction  in 
his  favor  by  behaving  handsomely.  But  Loretta, 
though  she  obviously  understood  what  he  was 
driving  at,  evaded  the  topic,  and  when,  in  order 
to  clinch  matters,  he  told  her  in  plain  terms  that 
he  wished  to  make  her  a  present  and  asked  her  to 
name  the  sum,  she  looked  knowing  and  suspicious, 
as  much  as  to  say  that  she  knew  her  rights  and  had 
no  intention  of  committing  herself. 

Paul,  who  mistook  her  contrariness  for  diffi 
dence,  was  on  the  point  of  naming  an  amount 
which  would  have  made  her  open  her  eyes  when 
she  suddenly  said  with  a  leer  intended  to  convey 
the  impression  of  shrewdness: 

"I'm  going  to  talk  with  my  lawyer  first.  Peo 
ple  say  it  was  all  your  fault,  and  that  I  ought  to 
get  a  fortune.  I've  witnesses  for  my  side." 

Paul  was  taken  aback.  "It  was  all  my  fault. 
I've  told  you  already  that  I  was  entirely  to  blame. 
And  I'm  anxious  for  you  to  tell  me  how  much  I 
ought  to  pay  as  damages.  So  there  won't  be  any 
need  of  a  lawyer  on  either  side." 

Loretta  argued  to  herself  that  she  was  not  to 
be  caught  by  any  such  smooth  words.  She  tossed 
her  head. 

"I  don't  know  about  that.  I'm  going  to  get 
one  of  the  smartest  attorneys  in  Benham  to  attend 
to  my  case."  She  waited  a  moment,  then  added 
triumphantly,  believing  that  her  announcement 
would  carry  dismay  to  her  crafty  visitor,  "It's 
Gordon  Perry,  Esq.,  Counsellor-at-Law." 

441 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"Gordon  Perry?" 

Loretta  construed  his  inflection  of  astonishment 
as  consternation. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I'm  going  to  consult  him  this 
afternoon." 

It  was  on  Paul's  lips  to  inform  her  that  Gor 
don  was  his  lawyer  too,  but  her  uncompromising 
attitude  had  produced  its  natural  effect,  and  he  felt 
at  liberty  to  practise  a  little  craft  in  his  turn.  If 
he  were  to  disclose  the  truth,  she  would  be  likely 
to  consult  someone  else;  whereas  Gordon  and  he 
could  come  to  terms  speedily.  So  he  merely  re 
sponded  that  he  knew  Mr.  Perry  to  be  an  excellent 
attorney,  and  that  he  would  be  content  to  abide  by 
his  decision. 

The  final  settlement  required  some  diplomacy 
on  Gordon's  part  on  account  of  the  difference  in 
point  of  view  between  the  contracting  parties. 
Loretta  had  definitely  fixed  on  ten  thousand  dol 
lars  as  the  Mecca  of  her  hopes,  than  which,  as  she 
declared  to  Gordon  at  their  first  interview,  she 
would  not  accept  a  cent  less;  whereas  Paul  was 
disposed  to  make  her  comfortable  for  life  by  a 
donation  of  twenty-five  thousand.  He  naturally 
had  discussed  the  subject  with  his  aunt,  and  this 
was  the  sum  which  had  been  agreed  on  between 
them  as  fitting.  Mrs.  Wilson  was  overwhelmed 
by  the  disaster;  it  haunted  her  thoughts;  and, 
though  she  remembered  Loretta's  original  indif 
ference  regarding  the  child,  it  seemed  to  her  that 
the  only  possible  expiation  would  be  a  princely 
benefaction,  such  as  would  thrill  the  bereaved  re 
cipient.  But  when  she  in  her  turn  mentioned  the 
matter  to  Constance,  the  latter,  who  had  been 

442 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

mulling  over  the  insinuation  uttered  by  Dr.  Dale, 
informed  her  what  he  had  said.  The  effect  of 
this  intelligence  was  to  strengthen  the  purpose 
which  Mrs.  Wilson  and  Paul  had  already  formed 
to  have  the  gift  tied  up  so  that  Loretta  could  use 
only  the  income,  and  thus  be  protected  indefinitely 
against  designing  companions  and  herself.  But 
when  Gordon,  who  had  abstained  from  revealing 
the  extent  of  Paul's  intended  liberality,  suggested 
this  arrangement,  he  encountered  sour  opposition 
from  his  client.  It  was  manifest  that  Loretta  had 
set  her  heart  on  being  complete  mistress  of  the  ten 
thousand  dollars,  and  that  any  curtailment  of  her 
power  to  exhibit  it  and  spend  it  as  she  saw  fit 
would  be  a  bitter  disappointment.  Either  she  did 
not  understand,  or  declined  to  understand  what 
was  meant  by  a  trust,  and  plainly  she  regarded 
the  proposition  as  a  subterfuge  on  the  part  of  the 
donor  to  keep  his  clutch  on  the  money.  Gordon 
endeavored  to  reason  with  her  and  to  show  her  the 
disinterested  wisdom  of  the  plan,  but  she  shook 
her  head  no  less  resolutely  after  he  had  finished. 
When  her  repugnance  was  stated  to  Paul,  he  bade 
Gordon  pay  her  the  ten  thousand  dollars  in  cash 
and  say  nothing  about  the  remainder.  He  added 
good-naturedly : 

"I  suppose  it's  natural  enough  that  she  should 
like  to  finger  the  money.  Let  her  blow  it  in  as  she 
chooses,  and  when  it's  gone  I'll  settle  an  annuity 
on  her." 

Loretta  came  to  Constance  on  the  following 
day  with  glittering  eyes  and  exhibited  her  treasure- 
trove — a  bank  book  and  a  roll  of  bills. 

"It's  all  there,"  she  said.     "My  lawyer  went 

443 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

with  me  and  he  saw  me  hand  it  all  over  except  this 
hundred  dollars  to  the  man  in  the  cage.  My  law 
yer  made  me  count  it  first.  He's  smart — Gordon 
Perry,  Esq.,  Counsellor-at-Law.  I'm  rich  now." 

"But  you  will  go  on  nursing  just  the  same,  won't 
you,  Loretta?  It's  your  profession,  you  know." 

Loretta  looked  non-committal.  "Perhaps.  But 
I'm  going  to  take  a  rest  first  and — and  buy  a  few 
things."  She  spread  out  proudly  the  new  crisp 
bank  bills  like  a  pack  of  cards.  "I've  never  been 
able  to  buy  anything  before." 

Solicitous  as  she  felt  regarding  the  future,  Con 
stance  had  not  the  heart  to  repress  sympathy  with 
this  radiant  mood.  Blood  money  as  it  was,  it 
would,  nevertheless,  mean  many  pleasures  and 
comforts  to  the  pensioner.  It  was  no  time  for  ad 
vice  or  for  extracting  promises  of  good  behavior. 
So  in  a  few  words  she  showed  the  approach  to 
envy  which  was  expected  of  her. 

By  way  of  recompense,  or  because  she  had  been 
waiting  for  congratulations  to  be  paid  first,  Lor 
etta  presently  paused,  looked  knowing,  and  giving 
Constance  a  nudge  whispered  oracularly,  as  one 
whose  views  were  now  entitled  to  respectful  con 
sideration,  "I  sounded  him  about  you,  Constance, 
and  it's  all  right.  I  could  see  it  is,  though  I  guess  he 
didn't  like  much  my  speaking.  And  what  do  you 
suppose  I  told  him?  That  he  mustn't  get  dis 
couraged,  for  one  had  only  to  look  at  you  to  know 
that  you  were  perfectly  miserable  without  him." 

"How  dare  you  tell  him  such  a  thing?  What 
right  had  you  to  meddle?"  cried  Constance,  be 
side  herself  with  anger  and  humiliation.  She 
clenched  her  hands;  she  wished  that  she  might 

444 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

throw  herself  upon  this  arch,  complacent  busybody 
and  box  her  ears.  uThis  is  too  much!  Besides, 
it  is  not  true — it  is  not  true." 

"True?  Of  course  it's  true.  And  why  should 
you  mind  its  being  true  if  you  love  him?  I  was 
trying  to  help  you,  Constance,  so  there's  no  use  in 
getting  mad." 

Obviously  Loretta  on  her  side  was  surprised 
at  the  reception  accorded  her  good  offices,  and  at 
a  loss  to  explain  such  an  abnormal  outburst  on  the 
part  of  her  habitually  gentle  comrade.  Percep 
tion  of  this  swiftly  checked  the  current  of  Con 
stance's  wrath,  but,  as  her  equanimity  returned,  the 
eyes  of  her  mind  became  pitilessly  fixed  on  her 
self.  Perfectly  miserable !  Was  not  that  indeed 
the  real  truth?  And  true  not  only  of  her  but  of 
him?  Of  him,  who  had  told  her  that  she  was 
sacrificing  the  joy  of  both  their  lives  to  a  fetich. 
Loretta's  rude  probing  had  made  one  thing  clear 
— that  it  was  futile  to  try  longer  to  persuade  her 
self  that  she  was  happy. 

Yet  her  reply  was,  "I  take  you  at  your  word, 
Loretta,  that  you  meant  no  harm.  Please  remem 
ber,  however,  hereafter  that  my  relations  with 
Mr.  Perry  are  a  subject  not  to  be  spoken  of  to 
either  of  us,  if  you  do  not  wish  to  be  unkind." 

Loretta  stared,  and  laughed  as  though  she  sus 
pected  that  this  appeal  was  designed  to  put  her 
off  the  scent.  But  she  was  too  much  absorbed  in 
her  own  altered  status  to  care  to  bandy  words  on 
the  matter.  Two  days  later  she  disappeared  from 
Lincoln  Chambers.  But  the  fact  of  her  absence 
awakened  no  concern  in  the  mind  of  Constance 
for  several  weeks  inasmuch  as  she  had  gathered 

445 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

from  Mrs.  Harrity  that  Loretta  had  gone  to  an 
other  patient.  But  presently  it  transpired  that  she 
had  taken  all  her  belongings  with  her,  and  had 
made  the  charwoman  promise  to  make  no  mention 
of  that  mysterious  fact  for  the  time  being.  Mrs. 
Harrity  could  throw  no  further  light  on  the 
lodger's  exodus,  but  admitted  that  under  the  spell 
of  one  of  the  crisp  new  bills  she  had  asked  no 
questions  and  subsequently  held  her  tongue. 

Constance  immediately  imparted  her  fears  to 
Mrs.  Wilson,  who  instituted  promptly  a  search 
through  the  police  authorities.  Investigation  dis 
closed  that  a  woman  answering  to  the  description 
of  Loretta  had  been  seen  at  some  of  the  restau 
rants  and  entertainment  resorts  of  flashy  charac 
ter  in  the  company  of  a  man  with  whom  there  was 
reason  to  believe  she  had  left  town.  It  was  found 
also  on  inquiry  at  the  bank  where  here  funds  had 
been  placed  that  the  entire  deposit  had  been  with 
drawn  some  three  weeks  subsequent  to  the  date 
when  the  account  was  opened. 

Confronted  with  this  disagreeable  intelligence 
Mrs.  Wilson  felt  aghast.  It  occasioned  her 
grievous  personal  distress  that  her  ward  should 
have  fallen  so  signally  from  grace  at  the  very  mo 
ment  when  the  spirit  of  righteousness  should  have 
triumphed,  and  she  was  displeased  to  think  that 
her  philanthropic  acumen  had  been  at  fault.  But 
the  elasticity  of  her  spirit  presently  prevailed,  and 
it  was  with  an  exculpating  sense  of  recovery  and 
of  illumination  which  was  almost  breathless  that 
she  said  to  Constance: 

"I  fear  that  we  must  face  the  fact  that  she  is  a 
degenerate ;  one  of  those  unhappy  beings  whom  the 

446 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

helping  hands  of  society  are  powerless  to  uplift 
because  of  their  inherent  preference  for  evil." 

Upon  her  lips  the  word  "degenerate"  had  the 
sound  of  the  ring  of  fate  and  of  modern  scientific 
sophistication  withal. 


447 


XXVI 

A  YEAR  later,  in  the  early  days  of  spring  and 
the  closing  weeks  of  the  next  State  As 
sembly,  Carlton  Howard  and  his  son  Paul  sat 
conversing  in  Mrs.  Wilson's  study.  They  had 
been  dining  with  her,  and  on  rising  from  the  table 
she  had  invited  them  to  keep  her  company  in  her 
private  apartment  while  she  busied  herself  with 
matters  incident  to  the  entertainment  she  was  to 
give  in  a  little  more  than  a  week  to  the  members 
of  the  American  Society  for  the  Discussion  of  So 
cial  Problems,  as  the  crowning  festivity  to  its  four 
days'  meeting  in  Benham. 

Mrs.  Wilson  was  elated  over  the  opportunity  to 
mingle  the  thoughtful  people  of  the  country — 
some  of  whom,  as  seen  at  annual  meetings  of  the 
society  elsewhere,  appeared  to  her  to  have  culti 
vated  intellectual  aptness  at  the  expense  of  the 
graces  of  life — and  Benham's  fashionable  coterie. 
She  reasoned  that  the  experience  would  be  stimu 
lating  for  both,  and  with  her  secretary  at  her 
elbow  she  was  absorbed  in  planning  various  feat 
ures  to  give  distinction  to  the  event.  Her  hos 
pitality,  from  one  point  of  view,  would  not  be  the 
first  of  its  kind  in  the  annals  of  the  society,  for  at 
each  of  the  last  two  meetings — the  one  in  Chicago, 
the  other  in  St.  Louis — there  had  been  an  attempt 
to  entertain  the  members  more  lavishly  than 
hitherto.  So  in  a  sense  she  felt  herself  on  her 

448 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

mettle  to  set  before  her  visitors  the  best  which 
Benham  afforded,  and  so  effectively  as  to  eclipse 
the  past  and  at  the  same  time  bring  a  little  nearer 
that  appropriate  blending  between  beauty  and  wis 
dom  to  which  she  looked  forward  as  an  ultimate 
social  aim. 

She  had  been  of  many  minds  as  to  what  form 
her  entertainment  should  take,  and  had  finally  set 
tled  on  this  programme :  Dinner  was  to  be  served 
at  her  house  to  the  seventy-five  visiting  and  resi 
dent  members  and  a  sprinkling  of  Benham's  most 
socially  gifted  spirits,  at  little  tables  holding  six 
or  eight.  A  reception  was  to  follow,  to  which  the 
rest  of  her  acquaintance  was  invited  to  meet  the 
investigators  of  social  problems.  At  this  there 
was  to  be  a  vaudeville  performance  by  artists  from 
New  York,  after  which,  before  supper,  six  of  Ben- 
ham's  prettiest  and  most  fashionable  girls  were  to 
pass  around,  as  keepsakes  for  the  visitors,  silver 
ornaments  reminiscent  of  Benham  in  their  shape 
or  design.  Mrs.  Wilson  was  not  wholly  satisfied 
with  this  programme;  she  was  conscious  that  it 
lacked  complete  novelty  and  was  not  aesthetically 
so  convincing  as  some  of  her  previous  efforts;  but 
considering  the  numbers  to  be  fed — and  she  was 
determined  that  these  thoughtful  pilgrims  should 
taste  delicious  food  faultlessly  served  for  once  in 
their  lives — she  could  think  of  no  more  subtle 
form  of  hospitality  which  would  give  them  the 
opportunity  to  realize  the  artistic  significance  of 
her  establishment. 

There  were  so  many  things  to  be  attended  to, 
a  portion  of  which  occurred  to  her  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment,  that  Mrs.  Wilson  had  requested  her 

449 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

secretary  to  make  long  working  hours,  and  occa 
sionally,  as  on  this  day,  to  protract  them  through 
the  evening.  Constance  was  at  her  desk  in  the 
room  appropriated  to  her  use,  which  led  out  of 
Mrs.  Wilson's  study.  The  door  was  open,%  and 
where  she  sat  it  was  easy  to  distinguish  the  con 
versation  which  went  on  there.  When  Mrs.  Wil 
son  needed  her  she  touched  a  silver  bell  far  more 
melodious  in  its  tone  that  the  squeak  of  electric 
communication.  Constance  had  already  exchanged 
greetings  with  her  employer's  brother  and  nephew, 
whose  random  dialogue,  broken  by  the  digestive 
pauses  which  are  apt  to  occur  after  a  good  dinner, 
provided  a  cosey  stimulus  to  Mrs.  Wilson's 
musings.  Mrs.  Wilson  enjoyed  the  feeling  that 
she  was  in  the  bosom  of  her  family,  and  that,  at 
the  same  time,  absorbed  in  her  cogitations,  she 
need  give  no  more  than  a  careless  ear  to  the  talk 
of  railroad  earnings  and  other  purely  masculine 
concerns.  She  was  pleased  too  by  the  knowledge 
that  Lucille  was  coming  in  a  few  days  to  pay  her 
a  visit,  bringing  her  granddaughter  and  the  new 
Nicholson  baby,  a  boy.  Her  new  son-in-law  also 
was  coming,  and  she  could  not  help  feeling  elated 
at  the  prospect  of  letting  Benham  see  that  the 
marriage  which  ought  to  have  been  a  failure  had 
turned  out  surprisingly  well,  and  that  her  daugh 
ter  was  a  reputable  and  somewhat  elegant  figure 
in  society — not  exactly  the  woman  she  had  meant 
her  to  be,  but  immeasurably  superior  to  what  she 
had  at  one  time  feared.  She  was  aware  in  her 
heart  that  logically,  according  to  her  standards, 
Lucille  was  not  a  person  to  be  made  much  of  so 
cially,  and  yet  she  intended  her  and  her  husband 

45° 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

to  be  a  feature  of  her  entertainment,  and  she  felt 
sure  that  her  acquaintance  would  regard  them  as 
such.  Though  the  inconsistency  troubled  her,  in 
ducing,  if  she  stopped  to  think,  spiritual  qualms, 
maternal  instinct  jealously  stifled  reflection,  and, 
furthermore,  pursuing  its  natural  bent,  was  re 
joicing  in  the  opportunity.  Once,  when  interro 
gated  sharply  by  conscience,  in  the  watches  of  the 
night,  she  had  satisfied  her  intelligence  by  answer 
ing  back  that  her  behavior  was  ostrich-like  but 
human.  Since  the  rest  of  her  world  failed  to  turn 
a  cold  shoulder  on  Lucille,  was  it  for  her  to  with 
hold  the  welcome  befitting  an  only  child? 

Paul  Howard  was  now  a  Congressman-elect. 
His  canvass  for  the  nomination  the  previous  au 
tumn  had  been  successful,  and  the  rumors  in  cir 
culation  as  to  the  sum  which  he  had  paid  over  to 
his  manager  to  accomplish  this  result  by  methods 
more  or  less  savoring  of  bribery,  were  still  rife. 
These  had  reached  Paul's  ears,  and  he  was  unable 
to  deny  that  the  most  sensational  figures  were  far 
in  excess  of  the  actual  truth.  Concerning  the  rest 
of  the  indictment,  he  could  say  literally  that  he 
knew  nothing  definite.  He  had  drawn  checks  and 
asked  no  questions.  But  in  his  secret  soul  he  had 
no  doubts  as  to  its  substantial  accuracy,  and  after 
the  first  flush  of  victory  was  over  the  edge  of  his 
self-satisfaction  had  been  dulled  by  regret  at  the 
moral  price  which  he  had  been  obliged  to  pay  in 
order  to  become  a  Congressman.  Yet  he  had  com 
forted  himself  with  the  thought  that  otherwise  he 
could  not  have  won  the  nomination,  and  that  he 
intended  to  become  an  exemplary  and  useful 
member.  So  by  this  time  he  had  ceased  to  dwell 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

on  the  irretrievable  and  was  enjoying  the  con 
sciousness  that  he  was  to  go  to  Washington,  where 
he  hoped  to  make  his  mark.  Who  could  tell? 
With  his  means  and  popularity  he  might  event 
ually  become  a  United  States  Senator,  or  secure 
some  desirable  diplomatic  appointment. 

Paul  had  been  spending  a  few  days  in  New 
York,  and  personal  business  matters  formed  at 
first  the  topic  of  conversation  between  the  two 
men.  When  presently  the  younger  inquired  if 
anything  of  general  interest  had  happened  in  Ben- 
ham  during  his  absence,  his  father  frowned  and 
said: 

"That  man  Perry  is  pressing  his  socialistic 
legacy  tax  bill." 

Paul  looked  interested.  He  understood  the 
allusion,  for  shortly  previous  to  his  departure  for 
New  York,  in  consequence  of  his  father's  animad 
versions,  he  had  taken  occasion  to  see  Gordon  and 
to  discuss  the  question  with  him. 

"I  object  to  the  principle;  it's  an  entering 
wedge,"  continued  Mr.  Howard.  "When  you  say 
that  because  I  leave  a  larger  estate  than  you,  my 
estate  shall  pay  a  larger  proportionate  tax  than 
yours,  you  confiscate  property.  It  is  only  another 
step  to  make  the  ratio  of  increase  such  that  after 
a  certain  sum  all  will  be  appropriated  by  the 
state.  It  would  be  a  blow  at  individual  enter 
prise,  and  so  at  the  stability  of  the  family.  If  you 
deprive  men  of  the  right  to  accumulate  and  to 
leave  to  their  children  the  full  fruits  of  their  in 
dustry  and  brains,  you  take  away  the  great  in 
centive  to  surmount  obstacles  and  to  excel." 

The    banker    in    broaching    the    subject    had 

452 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

uttered  Gordon's  name  with  denunciatory  clear 
ness,  so  that  Constance  heard  it  distinctly.  Her 
spirit  rose  in  protest  at  the  condemning  tone,  and 
she  paused  in  her  occupation  to  listen.  As  Mr. 
Howard  proceeded  she  recognized  the  character 
of  his  grievance.  In  the  last  letter  Gordon  had 
written  her,  now  more  than  a  month  previous,  he 
had  mentioned  the  fact  that  he  was  interested  in 
the  success  of  what  he  termed  the  progressive 
legacy  tax  bill,  and  she  had  closely  followed  its 
course  in  the  legislature.  She  knew  that  the  com 
mittee  to  which  it  was  referred  had  reported  in 
its  favor  by  a  majority  of  one;  she  had  also  gath 
ered,  from  what  she  read  in  the  newspapers,  that 
it1  was  regarded  as  the  most  important  public 
measure  of  the  session,  and  was  to  be  hotly  de 
bated.  While  she  sought  to  smother  her  personal 
feelings,  so  that  she  might  give  due  consideration 
to  Mr.  Howard's  argument,  he  paused,  and  Paul's 
voice  retorted: 

"I  mentioned  the  one  hundred  per  cent,  argu 
ment  to  Gordon  Perry,  and  he  smiled  at  it. 
He  said  that  so  unreasonable  and  oppressive  an 
extreme  was  out  of  the  question,  and  a  mere 
bogy." 

"Will  he  guarantee  it?"  demanded  the  banker 
sternly.  "He  cannot;  he  can  answer  only  for  the 
legislative  body  of  which  he  is  a  member.  If  the 
present  bill  passes,  why  may  not  an  Assembly 
twenty-five  years  hence  declare  that  the  public  good 
— meaning  the  necessary  tax  levy  for  the  expenses 
of  an  extravagant  socialistic  republic — demands 
that  all  which  any  man  dies  possessed  of  in  excess 
of  half  a  million  dollars  should,  by  the  operation 

453 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

of  a  sliding  scale  of  percentage,  be  confiscated  by 
the  State?" 

"But  on  the  other  hand  is  it  really  unjust  to 
tax  the  estate  of  one3  who  dies  possessed  of  a 
fortune  larger  than  is  sufficient  to  satisfy  every 
craving  of  his  heirs,  considerably  more  in  propor 
tion  than  that  of  the  citizen  of  moderate  means 
whose  children  need  every  dollar?  That  is  what 
Don  Perry  would  answer.  Moreover,  this  bill  is 
tolerably  easy  on  the  children  of  the  rich,  is  rather 
more  severe  on  brothers  and  sisters  than  on  lineal 
descendants,  and  so  on  through  the  family  tree. 
The  people  who  inherit  millions  from  a  cousin  are 
scarcely  to  be  pitied  if  the  State  steps  in  and  takes 
a  respectable  slice." 

"To  hear  you  talk  one  would  imagine  you  were 
a  supporter  of  the  measure,"  said  his  father 
haughtily,  recognizing  Paul's  proclivity  to  take  the 
opposite  side  of  an  argument,  but  evidently  re 
garding  the  subject  as  too  serious  for  economic 
philandering. 

Paul  laughed.  "I  suppose  I  should  vote  against 
it  on  general  principles — meaning  that  it's  best  to 
hold  on  to  what  one  has  as  long  as  possible.  But 
it's  one  of  the  sanest  attempts  to  get  at  the  surplus 
accumulations  of  the  prosperous  for  the  benefit  of 
everybody  else  which  has  thus  far  been  devised. 
Indeed,  we're  not  pioneers  in  this — in  fact,  rather 
behind  the  times  as  a  democratic  nation.  It  has 
been  introduced  already  with  success,  for  instance, 
in  the  republic  of  Switzerland,  and  in  Australia 
and  New  Zealand." 

Mr.  Howard  made  a  gesture  of  impatience. 
"Very  likely.  The  two  last-named  countries  are 

454 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

the  hot-bed  of  socialistic  experiments.  Will  you 
tell  me,"  he  added,  with  slow  emphasis,  "what  so 
ciety  is  to  gain  by  disintegrating  large  fortunes 
acquired  by  energy  and  thrift?  I  myself  have 
given  away  three  million  dollars  for  hospitals, 
libraries,  and  educational  endowments  in  the  last 
ten  years.  Will  the  State  make  a  better  use  of  the 
surplus,  as  you  call  it?" 

"The  trouble  is,  father,  that  some  multi-million 
aires  are  less  generous  than  you.  Evidently  the 
State  is  of  the  opinion  that  the  returns  would  foot 
up  larger  under  a  compulsory  law  than  under  the 
present  voluntary  system." 

"Up  to  this  time  personal  individuality  has  been 
the  distinguishing  trait  of  the  American  people. 
I  believe  that  the  nation  has  too  much  sense  to  sac 
rifice  the  rights  of  the  individual  to — " 

He  paused,  seeking  the  fit  phrase  to  express  his 
meaning,  and  was  glibly  anticipated  by  Paul. 

"To  the  envious  demands  of  the  mob.  That  is 
one  way  of  putting  it.  Gordon  Perry's  statement 
would  be  that  society  has  reached  the  point  where 
the  so-called  vested  rights  of  the  individual  must 
now  and  again  be  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of  the 
common  good,  and  that  a  moderate  bill  like  this 
is  the  modern  scientific  method  of  rehabilitating 
the  meaning  of  the  word  justice." 

Unable  to  see  the  disputants,  but  listening  with 
all  her  ears,  Constance  recognized  the  argument. 
The  common  good !  Here  was  the  same  issue  be 
tween  the  individual  on  one  side  and  the  com 
munity  on  the  other;  and  this  time  Gordon  was 
the  champion  of  the  State  against  the  individual. 
Clearly  he  acknowledged  the  obligation  —  the 

455 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

soundness  of  the  principle  provided  that  the  sac 
rifice  would  redound  to  the  benefit  of  civilization. 
Yet  the  same  mind  which  demanded  a  progressive 
legacy  tax  bill  in  the  name  of  human  justice  re 
jected  an  inflexible  mandate  against  remarriage  as 
a  cruel  infringement  on  the  rights  of  two  souls  as 
against  the  world.  There  could  be  only  one  ex 
planation  of  the  inconsistency;  namely,  that  he 
believed  profoundly  that  such  a  mandate  was  not 
for  the  common  good.  She  knew  this  already,  yet 
somehow  its  presentation  in  this  parallel  form 
struck  her  imagination.  While  thus  she  mused 
Constance  heard  Mr.  Howrard  say  in  response  to 
Paul's  last  sally : 

"I  request  that  you  will  not  entrust  to  that 
young  man  any  more  of  the  firm's  business.  I 
prefer  an  attorney  with  less  speculative  ambi 


tions." 


Paul  laughed  again.  "As  you  will,  father. 
Gordon  Perry  has  all  the  practice  he  can  attend  to 
without  ours.  He  is  hopelessly  on  his  feet  so  far 
as  our  disapproval — or  even  a  boycott — is  con 
cerned." 

"And  his  bill  will  not  pass,"  said  the  banker, 
with  the  concise  assurance  of  one  who  knows 
whereof  he  is  speaking,  and  is  conscious  of  reserve 
power.  "I  have  sent  for  the  chairman  of  our 
State  Committee." 

"If  the  party  is  against  it,  you  know  I  am  a 
good  party  man,  father." 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  party.  It  goes  deeper 
than  that;  it's  fundamental.  I've  arranged  for  a 
conference " 

At  this  point  Mr.  Howard  saw  fit  to  lower  his 
456 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

voice.  It  was  evident  to  Constance  that  he  was 
imparting  secrets,  and  revealing  the  machinations 
by  which  he  expected  to  defeat  or  side-track  the 
obnoxious  measure.  If  only  she  could  hear  and 
warn  Gordon !  But  what  they  said  was  no  longer 
audible.  The  men's  talk  had  dropped  to  an  in 
articulate  murmur,  which  continued  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  and  then  was  interrupted  by  Mrs.  Wilson's 
dulcet  tones.  The  change  of  key  had  attracted 
her  attention,  which  already  in  subconsciousness 
had  followed  the  thread  of  the  dialogue,  though 
her  deliberate  thoughts  were  far  away. 

"I  have  been  listening  to  you  two  people,"  she 
said  aloud,  "and  it  is  an  interesting  theme.  I 
agree  with  you,  my  dear  Paul,  academically;  as 
an  eventual  sociological  development  the  surplus 
should  be  appropriated  for  the  public  good.  But 
I  wonder  if  we  are  quite  ready  for  it  yet.  In 
other  words,  can  the  community — the  State — the 
mass  be  trusted  to  administer  the  revenues  thus 
acquired  so  as  to  produce  more  wholesome  and 
beneficent  results  for  the  general  weal  than  are 
now  being  fostered  by  the  wealthy  and  enlight 
ened  humanitarian  few  under  the  existing  laws? 
In  the  present  stage  of  our  civilization  might  not 
the  standards  of  efficiency  be  lowered  by  such  a 
policy,  and  the  true  development  of  art  and  beauty 
be  arrested?  There  is  my  doubt." 

Her  brother's  response  had  the  ring  of  an  epi 
gram.  "To  the  end  of  time,  Miriam,  human 
affairs  must  be  managed  by  the  capable  few,  or  the 
many  will  suffer.  If  you  deprive  able  men  of  the 
power  of  accumulation,  the  price  of  bread  will 
soon  be  dearer." 

457 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"And  what  the  many  hope  for  sooner  or  later 
is  free  champagne,"  remarked  Paul. 

Neither  of  his  elders  replied  to  this  quizzical 
utterance,  and  there  was  a  brief  silence.  Then 
Mrs.  Wilson  stepped  to  the  doorway  of  the  ante 
room  and  told  Constance  that  she  did  not  require 
her  services  further  that  evening.  She  had  sud 
denly  remembered  the  former  intimacy  between 
her  secretary  and  the  protagonist  of  the  bill. 

For  the  next  week  Constance  diligently  studied 
the  newspapers  for  information  in  regard  to  the 
mooted  measure.  The  entire  community  seemed 
suddenly  aroused  to  the  significance  of  the  issue, 
and  the  daily  press  teemed  with  reading  matter  in 
relation  thereto.  The  debate  on  the  occasion  of 
the  second  reading  of  the  bill  was  the  most  pro 
tracted  and  earnest  of  the  session.  As  Mr.  How 
ard  had  intimated,  it  was  not  strictly  a  party 
measure ;  that  is,  it  found  advocates  and  opponents 
among  the  members  of  each  of  the  two  great  po 
litical  parties;  only  the  so-called  socialistic  contin 
gent  gave  it  undivided  support.  But  developments 
soon  revealed  that  nearly  all  the  conservative, 
eminently  respectable  members  of  the  party  to 
which  Mr.  Carleton  Howard  belonged  were  lining 
up  in  opposition  to  the  bill  on  one  plea  or  another. 
It  was  denounced  by  some  as  dangerous,  by  others 
as  unconstitutional;  numerous  amendments  were 
offered  in  order  to  kill  it  by  exaggerating  its  rad 
ical  features  or  to  render  it  innocuous.  Constance 
imagined  that  she  could  discern  the  master  hand 
of  the  banker  in  the  fluctuations  of  sentiment,  in 
some  of  the  editorials,  and  in  the  solemn  resolu 
tions  of  certain  commercial  bodies. 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

It  was  at  the  third  reading  of  the  bill  that  Gor 
don  made  his  great  speech — great  from  the  point 
of  view  of  the  friends  of  the  measure,  because  it 
set  forth  without  undue  excitement  and  super 
fluous  oratory  the  essential  soundness  and  justice 
of  their  cause.  A  packed  house  listened  in  ab 
sorbed  silence  to  the  forceful,  concise  presentation. 
On  the  morrow  the  rival  merits  of  the  controversy 
were  still  more  eagerly  bruited  throughout  the 
State.  Constance  could  restrain  herself  no  longer. 
Her  lover  was  being  stigmatized  by  the  lips  of 
many  as  an  enemy  of  established  society,  yet  she 
must  not  go  to  him  and  show  her  admiration  and 
her  faith.  But  she  would  write — just  a  line  to 
let  him  know  that  she  understood  what  he  was  at 
tempting,  and  that  she  was  on  his  side  in  the 
struggle  for  the  common  good  against  individual 
ism  and  the  pride  of  wealth.  By  way  of  answer 
there  came  next  day  merely  a  bunch  of  forget-me- 
nots  addressed  to  her  in  his  handwriting.  She 
pressed  the  dainty  yet  humble  flowers  to  her  lips, 
then  placed  them  in  her  breast.  They  seemed  to 
express  better  than  the  pomp  of  roses  his  steadfast 
allegiance  to  her  and  to  humanity. 

The  days  of  the  debate  were  those  just  preced 
ing  the  coming  of  the  pilgrims  belonging  to  the 
Society  for  the  Discussion  of  Social  Problems. 
Constance's  most  formal  duties  in  connection 
therewith  had  already  been  performed,  but  Mrs. 
Wilson  kept  her  constantly  at  hand  lest  new  ideas 
should  occur  to  her  or  emergencies  arise.  Besides 
there  were  numerous  minor  details  relating  to  the 
august  entertainment  on  the  final  evening  which 
demanded  supervision.  Constance  was  very  busy, 

459 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

but  in  her  heart  the  query  was  ever  rising,  Will 
he  win?  She  had  learned  that  the  bill  had  been 
put  over  for  three  days,  and  that  the  vote  on  its 
passage  was  to  be  taken  on  the  date  of  Mrs.  Wil 
son's  festivity,  probably  in  the  late  afternoon,  as 
there  was  certain  to  be  further  discussion  before 
the  roll  was  called. 

The  four  days'  exercises  of  the  Society  con 
sisted  of  the  reading  of  papers  on  current  national 
problems,  one  series  in  the  morning,  another  in 
the  evening,  with  opportunities  for  general  com 
ment.  The  afternoons  were  devoted  to  recreation 
and  the  visiting  of  points  of  local  interest,  such 
as  the  oil  yards,  pork  factories,  and  other  commer 
cial  plants  across  the  Nye  to  which  Benham  owed 
its  growth  and  vitality;  to  Wetmore  College,  the 
institution  of  learning  for  the  higher  education  of 
women;  and  to  the  new  public  library  and  Silas  S. 
Parsons  free  hospital.  Mrs.  Wilson  was  an  ab 
sorbed  and  prominent  figure  at  all  the  meetings. 
She  had  no  paper  of  her  own  to  read,  but  on  two 
occasions  she  made  a  few  remarks  on  the  topic 
before  the  Society  when  the  moment  for  discussion 
arrived.  On  the  third  day,  moreover,  at  the  end 
of  the  paper  on  "The  Development  of  Art  in  the 
United  States,"  the  president  rose  and  made  the 
announcement  of  a  gift  of  five  hundred  thousand 
dollars  from  Mrs.  Randolph  Wilson  and  her 
brother  for  the  erection  of  a  Free  Art  Museum  for 
Benham  on  the  land  already  bonded  by  the  city. 
Constance  had  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  the  ap 
plause  which  greeted  the  declaration  of  this  splen 
did  endowment.  Mrs.  Wilson  had  made  it  pos 
sible  for  her  to  attend  several  of  the  meetings  as 

460 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

educational  opportunities,  but  she  had  received  no 
inkling  of  this  interesting  secret. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day,  that  fixed 
for  the  entertainment  and  for  the  ballot  on  Gor 
don's  bill,  Constance  was  informed  by  the  butler 
that  there  was  a  woman  below  who  desired  to  see 
her.  The  man's  manner  prompted  her  to  make 
some  inquiry,  and  she  learned  that  the  visitor  was 
Loretta  Davis;  that  she  had  asked  first  for  Mrs. 
Wilson,  and  on  being  told  that  she  was  out  had 
asked  for  herself.  The  servant  volunteered  the 
further  information  that  she  appeared  to  be  in  a 
disorderly  condition,  and  that,  but  for  his  mis 
tress's  special  interest  in  her,  he  would  not  have 
admitted  her  to  the  house. 

Constance  went  downstairs  excited  that  the 
wanderer  had  returned,  yet  reflecting  that  she  had 
chosen  a  most  untimely  date  for  her  reappearance. 
She  said  to  herself  that  she  would  take  a  cab, 
bundle  Loretta  off  to  Lincoln  Chambers,  and  con 
ceal  the  fact  of  her  presence  in  Benham  from  Mrs. 
Wilson  until  the  following  day.  As  she  entered 
the  small  reception-room,  she  was  shocked  by  Lor- 
etta's  appearance.  She  looked  as  though  she  had 
lived  ten  years  in  one.  Her  cheeks  were  sunken, 
her  eyes  unnaturally  bright,  and  her  face  wore 
the  aspect  of  degenerate  dissipation.  She  was 
more  conspicuously  dressed  than  her  circumstances 
warranted,  and  her  clothes  appeared  crumpled. 
But  her  air  was  jaunty,  and  she  met  Constance's 
solicitous  greeting  with  an  appalling  gaiety. 

"Well,  I'm  back  again.  I  hear  you've  been 
hunting  for  me.  I  suppose  you'll  want  to  know  all 
about  it,  so  I  might  as  well  tell  you  my  money's 

461 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

gone.  Some  of  it  I  lent  to  my  friend — him  I 
went  back  to — and  the  rest  is  spent.  We've  been 
in  Chicago  and  New  York,  and — and  I've  had 
the  time  of  my  life." 

She  evidently  hoped  to  shock  Constance  by  this 
bravado;  but  distressed  as  the  latter  was  by  the 
painful  levity,  she  took  for  granted  that  Loretta 
was  not  herself,  and  that  though  her  speech  was 
fluent  she  was  under  the  influence  of  some  stimu 
lant,  presumably  the  drug  which  Dr.  Dale  had 
specified.  While  she  was  wondering  how  to  deal 
with  the  situation  and  what  could  be  the  object  of 
Loretta's  visit,  the  latter  supplied  the  solution  to 
her  second  quandary. 

"I've  seen  all  about  the  big  party  she's  giving 
to-night.  That's  why  I've  come."  She  paused  a 
moment,  then  continued  in  a  cunning  whisper,  as 
though  she  were  afraid  of  unfriendly  ears:  "I 
want  to  get  a  chance  to  see  it — the  folk,  I  mean, 
and  the  smart  dresses.  Lord  sake,"  she  added, 
noticing  doubtless  the  consternation  in  her  hearer's 
face,  "I  do  believe  you  thought  I  was  asking  to 
come  as  one  of  the  four  hundred  myself.  Thanks, 
but  I've  left  my  new  ball  dress  at  home.  They 
can  tuck  me  in  somewhere  behind  a  curtain;  I'd 
be  quiet;  or  I'd  dress  as  a  maid.  Manage  it  for 
me,  Constance,  like  a  decent  woman."  Her  voice 
cracked  a  little,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  sug 
gesting  a  tipsy  person.  Then  suddenly  her  man 
ner  changed;  she  squared  her  shoulders  and  said 
malevolently,  "I'm  going  to  see  it  anyway.  It's 
a  small  thing  to  ask  of  her  who  helped  to  kill  my 
only  child." 

It  was  a  small  thing  to  ask  certainly,  absurd  as 
462 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

the  request  seemed.  Constance  reflected  that,  in 
opportune  as  the  application  was,  the  decision,  as 
Loretta  had  intimated,  did  not  rest  with  her. 

"I  will  ask  Mrs.  Wilson,  Loretta,"  she  said,  to 
gain  time  to  think.  "She  will  be  home  before 
long." 

At  that  moment  the  lady  named  entered  the 
room.  The  butler  had  told  her  who  her  visitor 
was,  and  she  had  not  avoided  the  interview.  She 
had  just  come  from  an  afternoon  tea  given  in 
honor  of  the  visiting  pilgrims,  and  was  attired  in 
her  most  elegant  costume.  Loretta's  eyes,  as  they 
took  in  the  exquisite  details  of  her  appearance, 
dilated  with  the  interest  of  fascination,  yet  their 
gleam  was  envious  rather  than  friendly.  Behold 
ing  the  two  women  face  to  face,  Constance,  struck 
by  the  contrast,  realized  that  they  represented  the 
two  poles  of  the  social  system;  that  the  one  em 
bodied  aspiration,  the  graces  of  Christian  civiliza 
tion  and  glittering  success,  the  other  self-indul 
gence,  moral  decay,  and  hideous  failure.  Such 
were  the  prizes  of  deference  to,  and  the  penalties 
of  revolt  against,  the  mandates  of  society!  Yet 
even  as  she  thus  reasoned  her  heart  was  wrung 
with  intense  pity,  and  it  was  she  who  offered  her 
self  as  a  spokesman  and  laid  -Loretta's  petition 
before  Mrs.  Wilson.  That  lady's  face  was  a  study 
during  the  brief  recital.  Bewilderment,  horrified 
repugnance,  toleration,  and  finally  hesitating  ac 
quiescence  succeeded  one  another  as  she  listened  to 
the  strange  request  and  to  her  secretary's  willing 
ness  to  take  charge  of  her  discreditable  ward  if 
the  permission  to  remain  were  granted.  Obnoxious 
as  the  idea  of  having  such  a  person  in  the  house 

463 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

at  this  time  of  all  others  appeared  to  her  at  first 
blush,  Mrs.  Wilson's  philanthropic  instincts  speed 
ily  responded  to  the  demand  upon  them  in  spite 
of  its  obvious  and  vulgar  sensationalism.  She, 
like  Constance,  found  herself  asking  why  she  need 
refuse  such  a  small  favor  to  this  unfortunate 
creature  merely  because  the  supplication  was  so 
distasteful  to  her.  If  Constance  were  ready  to 
see  that  she  did  not  make  a  spectacle  of  herself, 
and  would  keep  an  eye  on  her,  why,  after  all, 
should  she  not  remain?  Might  not  the  sight  of 
the  brilliant,  refined  spectacle  even  serve  to  re- 
inspire  her  with  respect  for  the  decencies  of  life? 
Mrs.  Wilson's  imagination  snatched  at  the  hope. 
Consent  could  not  possibly  do  harm  to  anyone,  and 
it  might  be  a  means  of  reclaiming  this  erring 
creature. 

Constance  perceived  how  her  employer's  mind 
was  working,  and  she  made  the  course  of  acquies 
cence  smooth  by  saying : 

"We  will  sit  together,  Mrs.  Wilson,  where  we 
can  see  and  no  one  can  see  us.  And  in  return  for 
your  consideration,"  she  added  meaningly,  "Lor- 
etta  agrees  to  conduct  herself  as  a  lady — in  such 
a  manner  as  not  to  offend  anyone  by  her  behavior 
so  long  as  she  is  in  this  house." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson.  "I  am  very 
glad  to  give  my  permission.  You  know  what  Con 
stance  means,  Loretta?" 

Loretta  nodded  feverishly.  "I  shall  be  all 
right,"  she  said.  She  understood  that  they  re 
ferred  to  her  habits,  and  she  was  willing  enough 
to  guarantee  good  behavior,  for  she  knew  that 
she  had  the  assurance  of  it  in  her  own  pocket — a 

464 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

small  hypodermic  syringe,  the  use  of  which  would 
steady  her  nerves  for  the  time  being.  It  was  with 
in  exultant  intention  of  enjoying  herself  to  the 
attermost,  and  of  fooling  her  hostess  to  the  top 
3f  her  bent,  that  after  Constance  had  shown  her 
to  a  room  that  she  might  put  herself  to  rights, 
Loretta  jabbed  herself  with  the  needle  again  and 
igain  in  pursuit  of  forbidden  transport. 

An  hour  later  when  Loretta  was  asleep  under 
the  eye  of  a  maid,  Constance  found  time  to  con 
sider  how  she  could  ascertain  the  result  of  the 
Dallot,  the  haunting  suspense  as  to  which  had  kept 
her  heart  in  her  mouth  all  day.  She  lay  in  wait 
for  the  evening  newspaper,  but  she  ransacked  its 
zolumns  in  vain,  as  she  had  feared  would  be  the 
:ase.  Evidently  the  vote  had  been  taken  too  late 
for  publication.  While  she  stood  in  the  hall  try 
ing  to  muster  courage  to  call  up  one  of  the  news 
paper  offices  on  the  telephone  and  ask  the  ques 
tion — which  would  assuredly  be  a  piece  of  im 
pertinence  on  the  part  of  an  unimportant  person 
like  herself — she  heard  the  ring  of  the  front  door 
Dell.  When  the  butler  answered  it  the  command 
ing  figure  of  Mr.  Carleton  Howard  appeared  in 
the  vestibule  and  from  the  shadow  of  the  stair- 
:ase  she  heard  him  say  with  jubilant  distinctness, 
''You  will  tell  Mrs.  Wilson,  James,  that  the  pro 
gressive  legacy  tax  bill  was  killed  this  afternoon 
by  a  majority  of  three  votes.  Reconsideration 
was  asked  for  and  refused;  consequently  the  meas 
ure  is  dead  for  this  session." 

Constance  experienced  that  sinking  feeling 
which  a  great  and  sudden  disappointment  is  apt 
to  bring.  She  had  taken  for  granted  that  Gor- 

465 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

don  would  win;  that  he  would  get  the  better  of 
his  opponents  in  the  end,  despite  their  endeavors, 
and  gain  a  glorious  victory  for  humanity  and  him 
self.  Instead  he  had  been  crushed  by  his  enemies, 
and  was  tasting  the  bitterness  of  defeat.  He  would 
bear  it  bravely,  she  did  not  question  that,  but  how 
depressing  to  see  the  cause  in  behalf  of  which  all 
his  energies  had  been  enlisted  defeated  by  the  nar 
rowest  margin  on  the  very  verge  of  success. 

She  remained  for  some  moments  as  though 
rooted  to  the  spot.  As  poor  Loretta  had  once 
said,  it  is  love  which  makes  the  world  go  round, 
and  the  world  had  suddenly  stopped  for  her.  She 
ascended  the  stairs  like  one  in  a  trance  and  closed 
the  door  of  her  room.  What  would  her  sympathy 
profit  him  ?  How  would  it  help  him  to  know  that 
her  heart  bled  for  him?  Such  condolence  would 
be  only  tantalization.  What  he  desired  was  her 
self — to  possess  and  cherish  in  the  soul  and  in 
the  flesh — as  the  partner  of  his  joys  and  sorrows, 
his  helpmate  and  his  companion.  From  where 
she  sat  she  could  behold  herself  in  her  mirror  the 
comely  embodiment  of  a  woman  in  her  prime, 
alive  with  energy  and  health.  He  sighed  to  hold 
her  in  his  arms,  and  she  would  fain  kiss  away  the 
disappointment  of  his  defeat.  Anything  short  of 
this  would  be  mockery  for  him — yes,  for  her. 
They  were  natural  mates,  for  they  loved  each 
other  with  the  enthusiasm  of  mature  sympathy. 
Yet  they  must  go  their  ways  apart,  because  the 
Church  forbade  in  the  name  of  Christ  for  the  so- 
called  common  good.  How  could  it  be  for  the 
common  good  to  resist  nature,  when  she  knew  in 
her  heart  that  in  obeying  the  law  of  her  being  she 

466 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

would  feel  no  sense  of  shame  or  blame?  On  the 
one  side  was  the  fiat  of  the  Church,  and  on  the 
other  the  sanction  of  the  people — of  human  so 
ciety  struggling  for  light  and  liberty  against  super 
stition  and  authority.  That  was  Gordon's  claim; 
yet  he  was  no  demagogue,  no  irreverent  material 
ist.  What  would  her  own  father  have  said — the 
country  doctor  whose  sympathy  with  humanity 
was  so  profound?  She  felt  sure  that  he  would 
have  swept  aside  the  Church's  argument  in  such  a 
case  as  this  as  untenable.  What  was  it  held  her 
back?  The  taunt  that  in  obeying  the  law  of  her 
being  she  would  be  letting  go  her  hold  on  the 
highest  spiritual  life,  that  most  precious  ambition 
of  her  soul,  and  forsaking  the  Christ  whose  fol 
lowers  had  comforted  her  and  lifted  her  up. 

As  thus  she  mused  she  heard  Loretta  stirring. 
She  had  arranged  as  a  precaution  that  they  should 
occupy  chambers  which  opened  into  each  other, 
and  it  behooved  her  now  to  pay  attention  to  her 
— to  see  that  she  was  suitably  attired  and  to  super 
vise  her  movements.  When  they  were  dressed  she 
exhibited  to  her  the  large  dining-room  set  with 
little  tables,  and  afforded  her  a  peep  at  the  guests 
as  they  swept  in.  Later  Loretta  and  she  looked 
down  from  a  small  balcony  filled  with  plants  on 
the  splendid  company  assembling  in  the  music- 
room.  Her  charge  was  completely  absorbed  by 
the  pageant,  asking  at  first  eager  questions,  which 
Constance  answered  with  mechanical  scrupulous 
ness,  for  to  her  in  spite  of  the  brilliant  scene  the 
world  seemed  far  away,  and  she  still  dwelt  as  in 
a  trance.  As  soon  as  Loretta  recognized  Lucille, 
who  in  the  most  stunning  of  Parisian  gowns  was 

467 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

assisting  her  mother  to  receive,  she  became  ner 
vously  agitated,  and  after  surveying  her  for  a  few 
moments  she  nudged  her  companion  and  said, 
"What  did  I  tell  you?  Hasn't  her  marriage 
turned  out  all  right,  and  isn't  everybody  at  her 
feet?  You  might  be  down  there  with  the  rest  of 
them  to-night,  if  you'd  only  taken  my  advice." 

The  words  brought  Constance  back  to  her  im 
mediate  surroundings,  but  as  she  became  aware 
that  Loretta  was  thrusting  in  her  face  the  fact  of 
Lucille's  triumphant  presence,  she  realized  that  it 
had  already  been  a  significant  item  in  her  nebulous 
consciousness.  But  she  laid  her  hand  gently  on 
the  offender's  arm  and  said,  "Sh!  No  matter 
about  that  now.  Remember  your  promise." 
Loretta  grunted.  She  paid  heed  to  the  extent  of 
changing  her  tone  to  a  whisper,  but  murmured  by 
way  of  having  the  last  word,  "It's  unjust  that  you 
shouldn't  be  there;  it's  unjust."  Then  she  became 
silent;  but  every  little  while  during  the  evening 
she  repeated  under  her  breath  the  same  phrase,  as 
though  it  were  a  formula. 

Constance  remembered  subsequently  that  as  the 
evening  advanced  Loretta  ceased  to  ask  questions 
and  grew  strangely  silent,  seeming  to  follow  with 
her  eyes  every  movement  of  Mrs.  Wilson,  who  in 
a  costume  of  maroon-colored  velvet  set  off  by 
superb  jewels  and  a  tiara  of  large  diamonds,  swept 
with  easy  grace  hither  and  thither  in  her  endeavor 
as  hostess  to  make  the  blending  between  the  pil 
grims  and  Benham's  social  leaders  an  agreeable 
experience  for  all. 

It  was  in  truth  a  notable  entertainment;  the 
guests  appeared  pleased  and  appreciative;  there 

468 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

were  no  hitches;  the  music  evoked  enthusiasm, 
the  supper  was  delicious,  and  the  closing  dis 
tribution  of  trinkets  by  Benham's  fairest  daugh 
ters  came  as  a  delightful  surprise  to  the  departing 
seekers  after  truth.  But  all  save  the  conscious 
ness  that  she  was  facing  a  gay  scene  and  was  ful 
filling  her  responsibilities  was  lost  on  Constance. 
She  did  not  know  until  the  next  day  that  the  en 
tertainment  had  been  a  great  success,  for,  oblivious 
to  the  music,  the  lights,  and  the  brilliantly  dressed 
assembly,  her  soul  was  wrestling  once  more  with 
the  problem  which  she  had  supposed  solved  for 
ever.  It  was  nearly  one  o'clock  when  the  murmur 
of  voices  died  away,  and  she  conducted  Loretta 
to  their  mutual  apartment.  She  was  glad  that  her 
charge  showed  no  disposition  to  talk  over  the 
events  of  the  evening,  but  on  the  contrary  un 
dressed  in  silence,  busy  with  her  own  reflections. 
Having  seen  her  safely  in  bed,  Constance  straight 
way  sat  down  at  her  desk  and  wrote.  It  was  a 
short,  hasty  note,  for  she  was  bent  on  posting  it 
that  night  before  the  lights  in  the  house  were  ex 
tinguished.  Throwing  a  cloak  about  her,  she 
glided  downstairs,  and,  with  a  word  of  warning 
to  the  butler  that  he  might  not  lock  her  out, 
sought  the  letter-box  which  was  less  than  a  hun 
dred  yards  distant.  She  had  not  chosen  to  trust 
her  epistle  to  any  other  hands.  As  she  lifted  the 
iron  shutter  she  paused  for  a  moment,  then  with 
a  joyful  little  sigh  she  dropped  it  in  and  let  go. 
Fifteen  minutes  later,  like  a  happy,  tired  child, 
and  wondering  what  the  morrow  would  bring,  she 
escaped  from  reality  into  the  waiting  arms  of 
sleep. 

469 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

But  Mrs.  Randolph  Wilson  was  in  no  haste  to 
go  to  bed.  She  was  in  a  complacent  mood. 
Everything  had  gone  off  as  she  intended,  and  it 
suited  her  to  dwell  in  retrospect  on  the  incidents 
of  the  festivity,  and  to  muse  fancy  free.  Lucille 
had  kissed  her  good-night  and  had  retired.  She 
had  let  her  maid  loosen  her  dress  and  had  dis 
missed  her  for  the  night.  She  was  inclined  to 
dally;  she  liked  the  silence  and  the  sense  of  calm 
after  the  activities  of  the  day. 

Seated  at  her  toilet  table  and  looking  into  her 
mirror  with  her  cheeks  resting  upon  her  hands, 
she  gazed  introspectively  at  herself  and  destiny. 
Her  tiara  of  diamonds  still  crested  her  forehead. 
Somehow  it  pleased  her  to  leave  it  undisturbed 
until  she  was  ready  to  let  down  her  hair.  She 
was  conscious  that  she  had  reached  the  age  when 
she  preferred  to  see  herself  at  her  best  rather  than 
in  the  garb  of  nature's  disorder.  It  had  been  one 
of  the  eventful  evenings  of  her  life;  she  felt  that 
by  her  efforts  mind  and  matter  had  been  drawn 
closer  together  without  detriment  to  either.  And 
everybody  had  been  extremely  civil  to  Lucille,  at 
which  she  could  not  help  rejoicing.  Certainly, 
too,  Lucille  was  acquiring  more  social  charm  and 
was  more  anxious  to  please  people  of  cultivation. 
Then,  too,  her  brother  had  appeared  in  his  most 
engaging  mood  as  a  consequence  of  the  defeat  of 
the  legacy  tax  bill.  No  reason  for  doubting  her 
conclusion  that  the  passage  of  the  measure  would 
have  been  premature  under  existing  conditions 
had  occurred  to  her;  so  it  seemed  that  society  had 
been  saved  from  a  mistake.  Altogether  the  im 
mediate  present  was  marred  by  no  unpleasant 

470 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

memory  but  one.  As  to  that,  she  felt  that  she  had 
acted  indulgently,  and  that  on  the  morrow  she 
would  make  a  last  effort  to  rescue  the  unhappy 
degenerate.  As  she  surveyed  herself  in  the  glass 
she  appreciated  that  she  was  well  preserved  and 
that  her  grizzled  hair  was  becoming,  but  that  the 
romance  of  life  was  over.  She  would  never  marry 
again;  she  was  unequivocally  middle-aged.  Ideas 
were  what  she  had  left;  but  for  this  great  interest 
she  had  many  years  of  strength  and  activity  ahead 
of  her. 

Ideas !  How  absorbing  they  were,  and  yet  how 
little  the  most  disinterested  individual  could  ac 
complish  !  Truth  looked  so  near,  and  yet  ever 
seemed  to  recede  as  one  approached  it.  Men  and 
women  came  and  went,  generations  lived  and  died, 
but  progress,  like  the  march  of  the  glaciers,  was 
to  be  measured  by  the  centuries.  The  inequalities 
of  life — how  hideous  were  they  still;  how  far  from 
rectification,  in  spite  of  priests  and  charity !  What 
was  the  key  to  the  riddle?  Where  was  the  open 
sesame  to  the  social  truth  which  should  be  uni 
versal  beauty?  She  was  seeking  it  with  all  her 
soul,  but  she  would  never  find  it.  Deep  in  the 
womb  of  time  it  lay,  a  magnet,  yet  inscrutable. 
Who  would  unearth  it?  Would  it  baffle  mankind 
forever?  or  would  centuries  hence  some  searcher 
— perhaps  a  woman  like  herself — discern  and 
reveal  it? 

Pensive  with  her  speculation,  she  turned  her 
eyes,  wistful  with  their  yearning  to  pierce  the  mys 
teries  of  time,  full  upon  the  mirror,  and  started. 
An  apparition,  a  woman's  face,  cunning,  resent 
ful,  demon-like,  was  there  beside  her  own;  a 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

woman's  figure  crouching,  stealthy,  about  to 
spring  was  stealing  toward  her.  Was  it  a  vision, 
an  uncanny  creature  of  the  brain?  Instinctively 
she  turned,  and  as  she  did  so  a  large  pair  of 
hands  gleamed  in  her  face  and  reached  for  her 
neck.  Springing  up  with  a  cry  of  horror,  she  re 
coiled  from  the  threatening  fingers,  but  in  another 
instant  she  was  bent  backward  so  that  her  head 
pressed  against  the  glass  and  she  felt  a  powerful 
clutch  upon  her  throat  which  took  away  the  power 
to  scream,  and  made  her  eyes  feel  as  though  they 
were  bursting  from  their  sockets.  A  voice,  ex 
ultant,  cruel,  yet  like  a  revivalist's  chant,  rang  in 
her  ears. 

"I've  come  for  you.  We'll  go  together,  down 
to  eternity.  There  you  will  scrub  dirty  marble 
floors  for  ever  and  ever." 

In  the  face  in  the  mirror  Mrs.  Wilson  had  rec 
ognized  Loretta,  and  she  divined,  as  the  wild 
figure  threw  itself  upon  her  and  the  strong 
hands  gripped  her  windpipe,  that  she  was  contend 
ing  with  a  mad-woman.  The  import  of  the 
strange,  accusing  words  was  unmistakable;  it  was 
a  struggle  for  life.  Powerless  to  give  the  alarm 
save  by  inarticulate  gasps,  she  realized  that  only 
her  own  strength  could  avail  her,  and  that  this 
must  fail  owing  to  the  superior  hold  which  her 
assailant  had  established.  She  strove  with  all  her 
might  to  wrench  herself  free,  but  in  vain.  The 
long  hands  squeezed  like  a  vise,  and  she  was  chok 
ing.  She  felt  her  senses  swim,  and  that  she  was 
about  to  faint.  Then  with  a  rush  a  third  figure 
intervened;  someone  else's  hands  were  battling  on 
her  side,  and  in  an  instant  she  was  free. 

472 


I   have  surrenderee!." 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

Awaking  suddenly,  as  one  who  is  sleeping  on 
guard  often  will,  Constance  had  felt  an  instinct 
that  something  was  wrong.  The  turning  on  of 
the  electric  light  revealed  that  Loretta's  bed  was 
empty.  Where  had  she  gone?  It  seemed  im 
probable  that  she  had  sought  to  escape  from  the 
house  at  that  hour.  Puzzled,  she  stepped  into 
the  hall  and  half-way  down  the  staircase.  There 
as  she  paused  the  light  shining  from  under  Mrs. 
Wilson's  apartment  on  the  landing  below  caught 
her  eye.  The  next  moment  she  heard  a  muffled 
scream. 

It  had  required  all  her  strength  and  weight  to 
tear  Loretta  from  her  victim.  Having  succeeded 
in  separating  them,  Constance  hastily  put  herself 
on  the  defensive,  expecting  a  fresh  attack;  but 
Loretta,  panting  from  her  exertions,  stood  facing 
them  for  a  moment,  then  burst  into  a  strident, 
gleeful  laugh. 

"You've  saved  her,"  she  cried.  "I'm  crazy — 
stark  crazy,  I  guess.  What  was  it  I  said?  I 
was  going  to  take  her  where  she'd  have  to  scrub 
dirty  marble  floors  forever  and  ever.  I'd  like  to 
save  her  soul,  she  tried  so  hard  to  save  mine.  But 
it  was  time  thrown  away  from  the  start.  I  was 
born  bad — a  moral  pervert,  as  the  doctors  call  it. 
Christianity  was  wasted  on  me." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  looked  from  one 
to  the  other.  They,  horrified  but  spellbound, 
waited,  uncertain  what  course  to  pursue.  Mrs. 
Wilson,  now  that  she  had  partially  recovered  her 
poise,  felt  the  impulse  to  elucidate  this  horrifying 
mystery.  But  though  she  wished  to  speak,  the 
proper  language  did  not  suggest  itself.  How 

473 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

could  one  discuss  causes  with  a  mad  woman?  She 
raised  her  hands  to  put  in  place  the  tiara  which 
had  been  crushed  down  on  her  brow. 

"Look  at  her,"  cried  Loretta,  commandingly, 
addressing  Constance  and  pointing.  "Isn't  she 
beautiful?  She's  civilization."  She  made  a  low 
obeisance.  UI  was  in  love  with  her  once;  I  love 
her  still.  You  saved  her." 

She  frowned  and  passed  her  hand  across  her 
forehead  as  though  to  clear  her  brain.  Then  she 
laughed  again;  she  had  recovered  her  clew. 

"You  were  the  sort  she  could  help,  Constance 
Stuart;  you  were  good.  But  how  has  she — her 
church — paid  you  back?  Cheated  you  with  a 
gold  brick.  Ha !  Made  you  believe  that  it  was 
your  Christian  duty  to  let  Gordon  Perry,  Esq., 
Counsellor-at-Law,  go.  That's  the  way  the  aris 
tocrats  still  try  to  fool  the  common  people.  But 
isn't  she  beautiful?  My  compliments  to  both  of 
you." 

She  swept  a  low  courtesy  in  exaggeration  of 
those  she  had  witnessed  a  few  hours  earlier.  "It 
is  pitiful — pitiful  and  perplexing,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Wilson  in  agonized  dismay. 

For  a  moment  Loretta  stood  irresolute,  then 
of  a  sudden  she  began  to  shiver  like  one  seized 
with  an  ague.  She  regarded  them  distractedly 
with  staring  eyes,  and  throwing  up  her  hands,  fell 
forward  on  her  face  in  convulsive  delirium.  Con 
stance  rushed  to  her  side;  the  two  women  raised 
her  and  laid  her  on  the  bed.  Mrs.  Wilson's  maid 
was  aroused,  and  a  physician  communicated  with 
by  telephone.  He  came  within  an  hour  and  pre 
scribed  the  necessary  treatment.  He  said  that  the 

*  474 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

patient's  system  was  saturated  with  cocaine,  but 
intimated  that  she  would  probably  recover  from 
this  attack. 

After  the  doctor  had  gone  and  Loretta  had 
been  removed  to  her  own  room,  Mrs.  Wilson  and 
Constance  watched  by  the  side  of  the  sufferer, 
whose  low  moaning  was  the  sole  disturber  of  the 
stillness  of  the  breaking  dawn.  Each  was  lost  in 
her  own  secret  thoughts.  The  cruel  finger-marks 
on  Mrs.  Wilson's  neck  burned  painfully,  but  the 
words  of  her  mad  critic  had  seared  her  soul.  For 
the  moment  social  truth  seemed  sadly  remote.  She 
reflected  mournfully  but  humbly  that  ever  and 
anon  proud  man  and  his  systems  are  held  up  to 
derision  by  the  silent  forces  of  nature.  When  the 
darkness  had  faded  so  that  they  could  discern  each 
other's  faces,  she  arose,  and  sitting  down  beside 
Constance  on  the  sofa  drew  her  toward  her  and 
kissed  her.  Was  it  in  acknowledgment  that  she 
had  saved  her  life,  or  as  a  symbol  of  a  broader 
faith? 

"Kiss  me  too,  Constance,"  she  whispered. 

The  embrace  was  fondly  returned,  and  at  this 
loosening  of  the  tension  of  their  strained  spirits 
they  wept  gently  in  each  other's  arms.  Then  Mrs. 
Wilson  added,  "Come,  let  us  go  where  we  can 
talk.  We  could  do  nothing  at  present  which  my 
maid  cannot  do." 

She  led  the  way  to  her  boudoir.  The  idea  of 
seeking  sleep  had  never  occurred  to  either  of  them. 
Although  Mrs.  Wilson  had  felt  the  need  of 
speech,  it  was  some  minutes  after  they  had  estab 
lished  themselves  before  she  broke  the  silence. 
When  she  did  so  she  spoke  suddenly  and  with 

475 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

emotion,  like  one  beset  by  a  repugnant  conviction 
yet  loath  to  acknowledge  it. 

"Can  I  have  deserved  this,  Constance?"  The 
vivid  protest  in  her  companion's  face  made  clear 
that  Constance  did  not  penetrate  her  subtler 
meaning,  and  she  hastened  to  answer  her  own 
question. 

"Not  to  be  strangled  by  a  violent  lunatic,"  she 
said,  raising  a  hand  involuntarily  to  her  neck. 
"But  her  words  were  a  judgment — a  lacerating 
judgment.  How  I  should  loathe  it — to  scrub 
dirty  marble  floors  forever  and  ever.  It  is  just 
that — the  dirt,  the  disorder,  the  common  reek, 
which  I  shrink  from  and  shun  in  spite  of  myself. 
How  did  she  ever  find  out?  I  love  too  much  the 
lusciousness  of  life. 

'  It  is  the  little  rift  within  the  lute 
That  by  and  by  will  make  the  music  mute, 
And  ever  widening  slowly  silence  all.* 

Do  you  not  see,  Constance?" 

Leaning  forward  with  clasped  hands  and 
speaking  with  melodious  pathos  while  the  morn 
ing  light  rested  on  her  tired  but  interesting  face, 
her  confession  had  the  effect  of  a  monologue  save 
for  its  final  question.  And  Constance,  listening 
understood.  In  truth,  this  cry  of  the  soul  at  bay 
came  as  a  quickener  to  her  own  surging  emotions, 
and  she  realized  that  the  walls  of  the  temple  of 
beauty  had  fallen  like  those  of  Jericho  at  the 
trumpets  of  Israel.  Yet  though  she  understood 
and  saw  starkly  revealed  the  limit  of  the  gospel 
of  the  splendor  of  things,  with  all  the  purging  of 

476 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

perplexities  which  that  meant  for  her,  the  claims 
of  gratitude  and  of  unabated  admiration  no  less 
than  pity  caused  her  to  shrink  from  immediate  ac 
quiescence  in  her  patron's  self-censure.  And  as 
she  hesitated  for  the  proper  antidote,  Mrs.  Wil 
son  pursued  her  confession  relentlessly — pursued 
it,  however,  as  one  who  recites  the  weakness  of  a 
cause  to  which  she  is  hopelessly  committed. 

"One  is  spurred  to  refine  and  refine  and  refine, 
— does  not  even  religion — my  religion — so  teach 
us? — the  spirit  ostensibly,  and,  in  order  to  reach 
the  spirit,  the  body;  and  in  this  age  of  things  and 
of  great  possessions  one  reaches  greedily  after  the 
quintessence  of  comfort  until — until  one  needs 
some  shock  like  this  to  perceive  that  one  might 
become — perhaps  is,  an  intellectual  sybarite.  Nay, 
more;  though  we  crave  almost  by  instinct  individ 
ual  lustre  and  personal  safety,  reaching  out  for 
luxury  that  we  may  grow  superfine,  must  not  we 
— we  American  women  with  ideals — mistrust  the 
social  beauty  of  a  universe  which  still  produces 
the  masses  and  all  the  horrors  of  life?  Can  it 
fundamentally  avail  that  a  few  should  be  exquisite 
and  have  radiant  thoughts,  if  the  rest  are  con 
demned  to  a  coarse,  unlovely  heritage?" 

Not  only  did  gratitude  reassert  itself  as  Con 
stance  listened  to  this  speculative  plaint,  but  pro 
testing  common  sense  as  well,  which  recognized 
the  morbidness  of  the  thought  without  ignoring  its 
cogency. 

"Ah,  you  exaggerate;  you  are  unjust  to  your 
self,"  she  exclaimed  fervidly.  "You  must  not 
overlook  what  your  influence  and  example  have 
been  to  me  and  many  others.  I  owe  you  so  much ! 

477 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

more  than  I  can  ever  repay.  It  was  you  who 
opened  the  garden  of  life  to  me." 

Mrs.  Wilson  started  at  the  tense,  spontaneous 
apostrophe,  and  the  color  mounted  to  her  cheeks. 
Never  had  so  grateful  a  tribute  been  laid  at  her 
feet  as  this  in  the  hour  of  tribulation.  And  as  she 
gazed  she  felt  that  she  had  a  right  to  be  proud  of 
the  noble-looking,  the  sophisticated  woman  who 
held  out  to  her  these  refreshing  laurels. 

"And  it  is  not  that  I  do  not  comprehend — that 
I  do  not  share  your  qualms,"  Constance  continued, 
ignoring  the  gracious  look  that  she  might  express 
herself  completely  in  this  crucial  hour.  The  time 
had  come  to  utter  her  own  secret,  which  she  felt 
to  be  the  most  eloquent  of  revolts  against  the  mys 
tic  superfineness  she  had  just  heard  deprecated. 
"Within  the  last  twelve  hours  the  scales  have 
fallen  from  my  eyes  also,  and  what  seemed  to 
me  truth  is  no  longer  truth.  There  is  something 
I  wish  to  tell  you,  Mrs.  Wilson.  Yesterday 
afternoon  I  heard  that  the  legacy  tax  bill  had  been 
defeated;  last  night  before  I  went  to  bed  I  posted 
a  letter  to  Gordon  Perry  informing  him  that  I 
would  be  his  wife.  I  have  asked  him  to  come  to 
see  me  at  Lincoln  Chambers  this  morning." 

Mrs.  Wilson's  lip  trembled.  Genuine  as  was 
her  probing  of  self,  this  flank  attack  from  one  who 
just  now  had  brought  balm  to  her  wounds  and 
cheer  to  her  soul  was  a  fresh  and  vivid  shock.  To 
feel  that  this  other  ward,  whom  she  had  deemed 
so  safe,  was  about  to  slip  from  her  fingers  was 
more  than  she  could  bear.  Then  instinctively 
Constance  went  to  her  and  put  her  arm  around 
her.  "I  am  sorry  to  hurt  you,"  she  said  tenderly, 

478 


THE    UNDERCURRENT 

"but  this  is  a  time  to  speak  plainly.  I  love  him, 
and  I  feel  that  I  have  been  trifling  with  love.  I 
am  sure  at  last  of  this:  that  it  is  better  for  the 
world  that  two  people  like  him  and  me  should  be 
happy  than  live  apart  out  of  deference  to  a  bond 
which  is  a  mere  husk.  I  prefer  to  be  natural  and 
free  rather  than  exquisite  and  artificial.  As  Gor 
don  said,  the  ban  of  the  Church  when  the  law  gives 
one  freedom  is  nothing  but  a  fetich.  I  cannot  fol 
low  the  Church  in  this.  To  do  so  would  be  to 
starve  my  soul  for  the  sake  of  a  false  ideal — a  false 
beauty  cultivated  for  the  few  alone,  as  you  have  in 
timated,  at  the  expense  of  the  great  heart  of  hu 
manity.  I  can  no  longer  be  a  party  to  such  an 
injustice;  I  must  not  sacrifice  to  it  the  man  I 
love." 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  Mrs.  Wilson,  as  her 
question  presently  showed,  was  trying  to  piece  to 
gether  cause  and  effect. 

"You  wrote  to  him  last  night,  Constance? 
Then  this — horror  had  nothing  to  do  with  your 
decision?" 

"Nothing;  I  had  been  on  the  verge  of  it  for 
some  time :  I  can  see  that  now.  And  when  the 
news  of  his  defeat  came,  I  felt  that  I  must  go  to 
him  if  he  would  let  me." 

"He  will  let  you,  Constance." 

"I  think  so,"  she  answered  with  a  happy  thrill. 

Mrs.  Wilson  looked  up  at  her,  and  observing 
the  serenity  of  her  countenance,  knew  that  the 
issue  was  settled  beyond  peradventure.  Yet  she 
was  in  the  mood  to  be  generous  as  well  as  hum 
ble;  moreover,  her  inquiring  mind  had  not  failed 
to  notice  the  plea  for  humanity  and  to  feel  its 

479 


THE     UNDERCURRENT 

force.  She  sighed  gently,  then  patted  the  hand 
that  held  hers,  and  said: 

"Perhaps,  dear,  you  are  right.  At  all  events, 
go  now  and  get  some  sleep.  You  must  look  your 
own  sweet  self  when  he  comes  to  you." 

A  few  hours  later  Constance,  refreshed  by 
slumber,  was  on  her  way  to  Lincoln  Chambers. 
She  walked  as  though  on  wings,  for  she  knew  in 
her  heart  that  her  lover  would  not  fail  her.  Ar 
riving  a  little  before  the  appointed  time,  she  dis 
missed  the  children  to  school,  and,  smiling  at  fate, 
waited  for  what  was  to  be.  At  the  stroke  of  the 
trysting  hour  she  heard  his  knock.  She  bade  him 
enter,  and  as  their  eyes  met  he  folded  her  in  his 
arms. 

"Gordon!" 

"Constance!" 

"I  have  surrendered."  She  looked  up  into  his 
face,  bewitching  in  her  happiness. 

"Thank  God  for  that!" 

"But  I  come  to  you  conscience  free,  Gordon," 
she  said,  drawing  back  her  radiant  face  so  that 
he  must  hear  her  avowal  before  his  title  was  com 
plete.  "I  would  not  have  you  think  that  I  have 
compromised  or  juggled  with  myself.  If  I  be 
lieved  that  I  should  be  a  whit  less  pure  and  spir 
itual  a  woman  by  becoming  your  wife,  I  would 
never  have  sent  for  you,  dearly  as  I  love  you." 

"And  I  would  not  have  had  you,  darling.  The 
love  which  is  conscious  of  a  stain  is  a  menace  to 
the  world." 

THE    END 


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